A Kind and Generous Man
by AnneM.Oliver
Summary: Regency era Dramione. Though he appeared as a highwayman, she thought he was a kind & generous man. Once the mask was removed, could she love him as he really was, or was he to hide behind his 'mask' forever. A story of manners, deception & love.
1. Chapter 1

All characters belong to JKR

**A Kind and Generous Man**

**By**

**Anne M**

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**_14, April __1813_**

_**He sat in the corner of her bedchamber and watched her as she slept. The only light came from a single candle by her bed, and the dying embers of the fire. His greatest fear was if the light ceased completely, her life might end as well, and it would all be his fault. It was an irrational fear, but it was his fear nonetheless.**_

_**Why was it that he was such a cad to her when he was himself, but when he was 'the cad,' the blackguard, the scoundrel, he was a kind and generous man? Why could he not tell her how he felt, and more importantly, why could she not love him as he was?**_

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**Chapter 1: 22, June, 1812**

Every rut and pothole in the road made Hermione's teeth rattle and her bones ache. The barouche tilted sharply to the right, waking Gabby from her slumber. Hermione was not sure how the other girl could sleep, no matter how fine the carriage. The road was rough and rocky, the trip long and arduous, and Hermione found her company a bit tiresome. The younger girl's attitude was bright and happy, which Hermione found slightly annoying. Gabby smiled at Hermione and said, "Do not fear, sister dear, we shall reach our destination shortly." The pretty, blonde girl turned her head, and shut her eyes, and soon she was sleeping once again.

Hermione could not sleep if she tried. She also did not care if they soon reached their destination. She did not care if she ever set eyes on London again. London was no longer home. France was home now.

Her mother died during the Wizarding war. Her father was distraught and downtrodden until he met Madam DeLacour, who lost her husband during the same war. Bill Weasley, the brother of one of Hermione's closest friends, was married to one of Madam DeLacour's daughters, and he performed the introductions. Six months later the two were married, despite the fact that her father was a Muggle and Madam DeLacour was a witch, and Hermione and her father moved to France. Though Gabriella was her stepsister only, Hermione was still quite fond of the younger girl.

Since Muggle England and France were at war, Hermione's father decided it was time to move the family back to England. He took his new family to their country estate, where they spent only two months when her stepmother decided that the two girls needed to find husbands. She said that a season in London would do them a world of good, so she sent them to London to stay with Gabriella's sister Fleur, and her husband, Bill Weasley.

Thus the carriage ride that she now had to endure.

While packing for the trip, Hermione took as many books with her as she could, although her stepmother assured her that men did not like smart girls, only pretty girls who were accomplished in music, needlepoint, and entertaining. She told Hermione that she was far too pretty to read. Hermione wanted to laugh at the older woman, but she liked her, so she nodded, smiled, and packed her books anyway. One book in particular she never let out of her sight. It was a book her mother gave her, a book of fairytales, and she had inscribed the inside front cover. It was one of the few things she had of her mother's, and she held it dear, even if it did nothing to help her land a husband with five thousand a year.

The two girls packed their belongings, and were on their way to London so that they could be presented to society and have a proper season out. Nothing could be more repulsive to Hermione. She would be just as happy to find a position as a governess, or a teacher somewhere. When she stated her wishes to her father and stepmother, her stepmother told her she was too pretty to waste her time being smart.

At least familiar people would surround them. She took comfort in that. Her best friends from school lived in London: Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Harry had married Ron's sister Ginny, and Ron had married a lovely girl from school named Hannah Abbott. It seemed that everyone was being married, or at least engaged, except for Hermione. Her stepmother thought something was wrong with her. She constantly told Hermione's father that Hermione needed to stop reading, stop trying to be smart, and work on the things that were important: music, needlepoint, and husband hunting. Gabby, who at sixteen was four years Hermione's junior, was proficient in all of the above and a beautiful girl to boot. Hermione considered herself plain, and although she had only ever had one serious suitor, she never pictured herself married.

The carriage swayed once again, and Gabby's lady's maid, Marie, yelled out the window to the driver to slow down.

Gabby woke up again and said, "Is not my new brother's carriage fine?"

"Yes, it is very nice. It was nice of Bill to send it to collect us," Hermione remarked. Frankly, she would have been happy to have apparated, but Gabby was not yet qualified to do so, thus this horrible carriage ride.

"Did you know that Bill was given this carriage by the Minister of Magic himself, for services rendered during the Wizarding war?" Gabby asked.

"Yes, I know, you have mentioned it twice now," Hermione said, humouring the girl.

Gabby somehow closed her eyes again, and soon she was drifting back to sleep. Hermione reached under her seat for her book, her mother's book, and she began to read it. She had no sooner read the first chapter when the barouche came to such a sudden stop that Hermione, who was riding backwards, fell off her seat and hit her forehead on the seat in front of her. Gabby was helping Hermione back in her seat when they heard a shout from outside the carriage.

"Stop the carriage, and stand and deliver!"

"Oh, Merlin's sakes," Marie said. "It is a robber!"

Gabby began to cry. Hermione reached up to her forehead, felt blood, and then brought her hand back down to her side. She told Gabby, "It is alright, Gabby. Do not be afraid." Hermione reached in her reticule for her wand. She thought that the highwayman must be a Muggle, and he would be easy enough to disarm.

How wrong she was.

The door to the carriage opened and a man appeared, dressed all in black, with a mask covering the upper part of his face. Moreover, he had a wand in his hand. He said, "Exit the carriage. Your footman and driver have already been detained."

Hermione gave Gabby a slight nod of her head. The young girl exited the carriage first, followed by their maid. Hermione, who kept her wand in her hand, exited last. The robber held out his hand out for her. She thought he was mad. She wasn't about to take his hand.

She paused on the runner of the carriage, and said, "I do not require a hand down, sir, especially from the likes of you."

He chuckled and said, "I would merely like you to give me your wand, Miss."

She almost protested, but she thought of the danger that might be incurred to the others if she and the highwayman dueled, so she handed him her wand. He pocketed her wand and then he went into the carriage.

Hermione quickly looked around. There were three men total, counting the one in the carriage. One man stood over the driver and footman, and one man was guarding over the other two women. A moment later, the first robber exited the carriage, and he said to Hermione, "Did you think me a Muggle, Madam? Did you think to disarm me?"

"If the others were not in danger, I might have tried to disarm you, even knowing you were a wizard," she answered.

He smiled. His mouth the only facial feature she could see. "I have no doubt of your abilities, my sweet lady. You undoubtedly would have bested me, even on your worst day, so it is a good thing you thought of your companions."

"What do you want from us? We are only traveling with our clothing and personal belongings. We have no jewels, or money." She looked over at Gabby and Marie, who were now bound, and standing off to the side. She said, "You can see, we are three defenseless women, who travel with only one footman and a driver for protection."

He laughed, a hearty, deep laugh and said, "Something tells me you are not defenseless, my lady." He looked over at the other two blackguards and said, "Take the other two women over to the men, and watch them closely." Then he said to Hermione, "You, madam, will come with me."

"I will go nowhere with you," she claimed.

"My lady, you will come willingly, or under duress, it is completely your choice."

He pointed toward the back of the carriage with his head. Hermione walked toward him, and then in front of him, until they reached the backside of the carriage, away from prying eyes.

He took out a black handkerchief, and held it out to her. She looked confused.

"For your forehead. I apologize that you were injured when we forced the barouche to stop," he explained. He moved his hand slightly, anxious for her to take it. She did not. She stood firm.

He sighed in exasperation and stepped closer. Hermione backed into the carriage, with nowhere else to go. He reached up, which shocked her, and he dapped at the blood on her forehead, and when he was certain it had stopped bleeding, he stuffed the soiled cloth back in his pocket.

Hermione took a deep breath as he stood in front of her. His eyes were still on her forehead, but they moved quickly down to her eyes. They stared at each other for many moments. Her chest felt tight, and her neck hot. He reached up for her hair, which made her back up more, but with no place to go, she could only stand upright and rigid against the carriage.

"Sir?" she said.

"Hush," was his reply. He touched a springing curl that hung down from her less than perfect coiffure, and he uttered, "So soft."

"What do you want?" Hermione asked, though the words barely escaped.

"The carriage," he said curtly, removing his hand from her hair and backing away from her slightly.

"Why?" she asked.

He smiled a wicked smile and said, "Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions, my sweet? I want to steal this coach and that is what I shall do."

"Then how shall we travel?"

"Apparate," he said curtly.

"That would be fine for me, if I had my wand, which you have stolen, but my stepsister has never apparated, and her lady's maid is a squib. I shall not abandon them," she explained.

"I am not sure how this is my problem. I am hardly a man of conscience, hence the black mask, and the fact that I am stealing your coach," he said with a smile.

He motioned for Hermione to go back around to the other side of the carriage. When she reached the side with the others, she noticed that Gabby and Marie were crying. She also noticed that one of the other masked men had already begun to throw their things out of the carriage, onto the ground.

She whipped around to the first man and said, "I demand that you let us remove our own things!"

"Demand all you want, Miss, however, I shall not be obliged to listen," he said back. "Are you afraid we might soil your pretty frocks and fancy baubles?"

"I care not for dresses and things," she said, "but they are throwing my books to the ground!" Hermione turned back to their things, sprawled on the ground, and saw the book of fairytales, given to her by her mother, on the ground, on top of the mess of trunks and things. She bent down to pick it up, when the man on top of the coach pointed his wand at her and yelled, "Stupefy."

Hermione fell backwards on the ground. The first highwayman seemed upset. He immediately sent a hex to the man unloading the trunks. The man fell all the way to the ground. The third man ran over to the second, to help him to stand.

The highwayman walked up to Hermione and looked down upon her. She had a large tear to the sleeve of her gown, and she was holding her arm, where the curse had grazed her skin.

He offered her his hand. She slapped it away. He sighed and picked up the book she was after. "Fairytales?" he asked. "Somehow I thought you might be reading Shakespeare, or Voltaire, or the like. Isn't this a bit beneath you?"

"It was my mother's book," she said, still sitting on the ground.

The masked man placed the book inside his robe, and offered her his hand once more. This time, she took it. He lifted her, easily, and even though he wore gloves, he somehow knew that her skin felt soft and warm. Once she was standing, he kept her hand in his for a few seconds too long. She wrenched her hand from his and looked down at the ground.

"My book, please," she said, her hand out. She kept her face down; because she knew that she was blushing. She felt a strange tingling when he held her hand.

"Yes, we all want what belongs to us, do we not? It does not feel good when someone else claims your belongings as their own, does it?" he said, suddenly angry.

"Take the carriage, but please, give me my book," she said, now staring him fully in the eyes.

"Hermione, please!" Gabby said from the side.

He took the book out of his robe and held it out in front of him. She tried to grab it, but he held it above his head. She said, "So this is how men treat women in London? They hex them, steal from them, and then leave them for rot? You are a coward of the worst degree, sir."

Suddenly, Hermione could see that the man was angry, even though she could only see his mouth. It was in a firm line. He placed the book back in his robe and he grabbed her arm. He pulled her to the other side of the carriage once more, so no one could see. He put his hand on her neck, and her pulse was quick. He pushed her against the side of the carriage.

He said, "Do not ever judge me, or set me in the lot of other men, Madam. You know nothing of my character. I am no coward, of that you can be certain."

"While it is true that I do not know you, I do not wish to do so," she said, putting both her hands around his wrist, while it still held her neck, "You have not exactly shown us your benevolent side, have you?"

"I was going to leave your things, but perhaps I should just burn the lot!" he proclaimed. He stepped closer, so that his chest pressed against hers. He felt each heave of her bosom. He felt her fear. He felt her anger. He felt _her_. Moreover, for the first time in so many years, he felt guilt, which was one feeling he had never wanted to feel again. It was funny how this one woman had caused him to feel this same unpleasant emotion twice in his life, and neither time was she even aware of the fact.

"Forgive me for not thanking you for leaving us without means of transportation, still a great distance from London, with night close upon us, and our things scattered about us. Forgive me if I have not acted accordingly. I do not know the proper etiquette for the way I should act upon being robbed!" she huffed.

He laughed. He could not help it. He was angry one second, but now she made him laugh again. He loosened his hold and said, "Good luck getting to London carrying your things on your back. I shall keep your book as a memento of this auspicious occasion."

"You are a cad!" she yelped.

"I have been called much worse, my sweet girl. Much, much worse." Then he let go of her neck, but he brushed his gloved hand across her cheek. "May I offer you some advice?"

She merely snorted.

"You shall never find a husband with your nose in books, and you are much too pretty to never grace a man's arm as his wife."

"Who are you, my stepmother?" she asked.

He laughed again. "I truly wish I could stay and trade barbs with you all day, but as you said, night approaches, so I must take care of this carriage, and then get away from here before we are discovered."

"Do you really mean to leave us stranded here?" she asked as he started to walk to the other side.

"See, if you had a husband, he would be looking for you now," he said.

"Only pretty girls require husbands," she said.

He wondered something. Did she not see herself as she was? He thought she was beautiful, but then again, he always had. He reached for her, but she shied away from his touch. He knew it was inappropriate, the way he kept reaching for her, touching her, but he could hardly help himself. He kept his hand to his side this time, and said softly, "I agree with that sentiment, and I assure you, a pretty girl is something no one would call you."

She took a deep breath and said, "If you mean to offend me, you have not wounded me in the least. I am well aware that I am not a beauty."

"Ah," he drawled, "you see, that is where we disagree once more. You are not a pretty girl, as I stated, but one of rare beauty and delight; a woman with brains, bravery, and beauty. You are more than any man deserves, and more than any man could hope or desire."

"You're a cad," she said again, less than convincingly this time. "Do not say cruel things to me."

"My dear, sweet, girl," he said, leaning toward her. He could no longer resist touching her. His hand went from her shoulder, down her arm, to her hand. He brought her hand up to his mouth, and he kissed her knuckles. "Has no one ever said these things to you?"

She mustered all her courage and placed her hands on his chest, and pushed him away, though he barely moved. "You are the worst sort of cad. You are a liar," she said.

"Call me all the names you wish," he said, backing away from her. "But never call me a coward, as you did before. I will not abide that one. However, I am neither a cad, nor a liar. I think you owe me an apology."

She said, "You have shown me nothing of your character to suggest otherwise, nor to dispute my claims, now, I shall ask once more, may I please have my book?"

He merely shook his head. He wanted to keep her book, because it would give him an excuse to see her again.

The second highwayman came around the side of the carriage and said, "We really must move on, old man. The young French girl said that her brother-in-law is expecting them shortly and will soon send out someone to search for them.

The first man looked at Hermione and said, "See, you shall not be abandoned after all. More's the pity." The second man left the side of the carriage and the first man said, "I have a proposition. Your book for a kiss."

She turned her head to the side, bit her bottom lip, and defiantly said, "I would rather kiss a toad." However, an indignant tear, which was betraying her insolent façade, escaped her eye and traveled down her cheek. He reached for the errant tear, capturing it on the tip of his gloved-covered finger.

He took a deep breath and said, "Forgive me, Miss. I did indeed forget my manners. You are a lady, and as you stated, I am a cad. It was wrong of me to suggest that, but I did it as a lark. Please, do not cry." She turned back to face him.

He turned from her, climbed upon the coach, and then he looked back down at her, held out her book and said, "Believe me, it will be in good hands. I shall not destroy it."

"Do as your conscience tells you to do, sir," she said.

He smiled and said, "Do not fear, I shall. I always do what my conscience tells me to do; it is just that sometimes, my conscience is a right, bloody fool."

The third rogue took Hermione's arm and pulled her back to stand with the others. The first man unhooked the horses from the carriage, and yelled at them so they would run away. Then he jumped down and with his wand, he set the whole thing ablaze.

"You are destroying it!" Hermione gasped.

He turned back to her and said, "That was always my intent. That was my purpose." He reached for her book for the last time and said, "Shall I?" He held it over the fire.

She looked away. He tucked it back into his robe, and said to the others, "It is time we take our leave." He walked in front of Hermione, touched her chin, and said, "And I shall be seeing you again, my sweet."


	2. Chapter 2

**All characters belong to JKR**

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_**15, April, 1813**_

_**He was so tired. He was tired all the way down to his bones. He was weary, and he felt as if he was an empty vessel, set afloat against an incoming tide, and he was drowning. These feelings were familiar to him, instead of foreign. He had been feeling the exact same thing almost every moment since she was brought back to his house. He also felt these things before he had met her. The only time he felt remotely alive, and like his life had purpose, was the short time that she graced his home as his wife.**_

_**Now, as her life hung precariously on the edge, about to cross from one side to the other, he realized something. He loved her. He loved her whether she loved him or not. He loved her in spite of all that had transpired between them. He loved her for her transgressions, and in spite of his own. He loved her with every fiber of his being, even though he thought he would never love another human being.**_

_**He leaned forward in his chair and touched her hand. It felt so cold. She felt as cold on the outside as he had felt his entire life, on the inside.**_

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**Chapter 2: 22, June, 1812, Later that Evening:**

Draco paid his two accomplices the money he promised them, and then he lifted his wand and Oblivated their memories. They would have headaches in the morning, and they would wonder where the galleons came from, but that would not be his problem. Usually, he dealt with these things on his own, but tonight he knew he needed help, hence the other two men.

Stealing paintings, silver, artifacts, jewelry and Greek busts, was one thing, and usually easy enough to deal with himself, but he knew that there would be more than one witch or wizard in the carriage, and if he had tried to take care of this little problem on his own, he might not have succeeded. It pained him to destroy the beautiful barouche, as it was grand and ornate. His father paid a heavy purse for the wretched thing, and he held it as one of his highest possessions. Yet destroy it he did, since it was easily recognizable. He could not hide it as well as he hid the other items he stole, which included items that had not once belonged to the Malfoy family, since he didn't want to raise suspicion, or draw attention to himself. Yes, he could hide the other things in the attic of his townhouse, but he could not hide the carriage, and he would not abide someone else having it, so he was left with no choice.

He had heard that the Ministry had given it to the blood traitor Bill Weasley, for services rendered to the light side during the war. What was Draco's bounty? Where were his just rewards for his services rendered during the war? He was not recognized as a war hero, because he acted as spy, and only a handful knew, but that handful included the current Minister of Magic, and still, the blasted man chose to reward Draco by seizing all of his father's property.

Oh, they let Draco keep the things that were his own, possessions and monies he inherited from his grandparents, and things that were endowed to him, like his townhouse, and a few other properties, since he was of legal age. Everything that was his father's, including their Manor and all its belongings, were given away, like chattel. Well, if Draco could not have any of it, he did not want anyone else to have it. That was just the type of man he was, arrogant, proud, and selfish. Some would even call him unkind. Yes, Draco Malfoy was an unkind and selfish man and proud of it.

The woman in the carriage called him a coward. It hurt for her to call him that, especially her, especially since he knew that was how she really felt. She had called him a coward one time before, and it hurt just as much this time as it did the last time.

He was surprised to find Hermione Granger in the carriage. She had not changed much. She was still very beautiful, with a rapier wit. He always loved exchanging barbs with her when they were growing up. Her and her books! He laughed when he thought of her in school. She forever had her nose in a book! While the other girls flitted about, with pretty flocks under their robes, and their hair styled more for parties than school, Hermione only seemed to care about learning.

His sources told him that Weasley's sister-in-law and step-sister-in-law would be traveling in the carriage tonight, moving to London to find husbands, but he had no idea that meant Granger. He knew they would not be traveling with guards, so he knew that with two other men, he could easily overthrow their men, but if he had known she was there, he would have been better prepared.

Alternatively, maybe he would not have done it at all.

The thought that Hermione Granger was here to find a husband was almost laughable. Merlin help the man who tried to tame that shrew. It was apparent she was not here of her own freewill. At least she would not be forced to marry because of a law passed by the Ministry! The law stated that after the war, no pureblood could marry another pureblood, without paying a mighty tax. Draco was not worried about that law, since he never intended to marry.

Still, would it not be a coup d'état if he were to marry Harry Potter's best friend? The Ministry would probably give him all his father's property back! The biggest Mudblood of them all, married to the son of the Dark Lord's most trusted advisor. Why, it boggled Draco's mind just thinking about it.

She was fetching. She was also quick witted, beautiful, and fearless. He might enjoy pursuing her. There was a time that she could have been his easily, during the end of the war. Then, she thought he became a turncoat, although that was not the truth. She called him a coward back then, on that fateful night, just as she called him one tonight.

No, he would not waste one moment on someone like her!

The last time he was in France, right after the war, he had heard that Madam Delacour's husband had died, but it was surprising that she married a Muggle. Then again, Mr. Granger was very wealthy, and titled, a baronet, he thought he remembered, or maybe even a viscount. Madam Delacour used to be very wealthy, although with the death of her husband, she was no longer so. He knew that he had once heard Potter say that her father had always wanted her to marry a Muggle, and nothing below a marquess, an earl or even a duke would do for his precious daughter, so why was she here to find a husband in the Magical world? It must be her stepmother's idea, hence her joke tonight when she asked him if he was her stepmother, after he mentioned marriage. He smiled.

He almost froze when he opened the door to the carriage and saw her there. She was always so brave. She would have dueled them all, and probably won. He was glad he talked her out of trying. He thought she might have recognized him, but then again, he did put a concealment charm on his hair, to change the colour, and he wore an old tricorne hat. However, his eyes were recognizable, and she could see them behind the mask. He was sure if she had recognized him, she would have called him out for it.

Draco's valet, Pyle, knocked on the door. Draco called out that he would see to his own needs tonight. He was tired. So very tired. He removed his cloak and cravat, and pulled off one boot. He sat on his bed before pulling off the other. He leaned over, grabbed his cloak from the floor, and took out her book. He wondered why an old book of nursery tales was so important to her. "Tales of Beedle the Bard" it was called. He huffed and threw it on the bedside table, before removing his other boot, and letting it fall to the floor with a thud.

He lay on his back, picked up the book again, and leafed through the pages. She had said that her mother had given it to her. How funny. All the fairytales in this book were about witches and wizards, and her mother was a Muggle. He hated that taking it caused her so much distress. He had certainly caused her a lot of distress throughout their lives. First in school, and then during the war.

He sat up and threw the book across the room. The insolent chit! She called him a coward tonight! He had not meant to hurt her! She hit her head when the carriage stopped, but it was hard, so surely that did not hurt. She took a curse to the arm, but that was not his fault. Though she had shed a tear, he would feel no guilt…hell, making women cry was one of his fortes.

Nevertheless, to risk her life for a book was beyond foolish! She did not know it was he! She did not know that it was not a real highwayman. A real robber might have raped her, killed her, and all for a stupid book! A child's book! Full of fables and tall tales! He stood, walked over to the book, where it laid on the floor, cover opened to an inscription, written inside the front cover.

He leaned forward, picked it up, and read the inscription aloud.

_To my darling daughter, _

_I am so proud of you. I know that your father wishes for you to keep the fact you are a witch a secret, but just because you cannot proclaim it to the world, does not mean that you should not be proud of who and what you are. I am proud of thee. You are my bright, shining light, and someday, when I am gone, I shall be yours. Look to the brightest star in heaven, and know that it is I, looking down upon thee, gracing your life with love and light and happiness. May your find your happy ending daughter, because I found mine, the moment you were born. _

_Love, your mother._

"Bollocks!" he shouted. Now he would have to give it back to her, would he not? To not do so _would_ make him a coward, of sorts. The sooner the better. He walked over to the desk, and opened the top drawer. He picked up a piece of parchment that had all the items he had yet to steal back. On the top was, "Father's barouche." He crossed that out with a quill, folded the list, and stuffed it in the bottom of the draw, along with Hermione's book.

He decided to get some sleep, for tomorrow evening there was an assembly in the town hall, and since most of the magical community would attend, he might be able to recoup a few more items tomorrow night, when people were out of their houses.

On the other hand, if Hermione Granger was at the assembly, he might just have to go there instead, and claim the first dance, and the second, and all others.

He smiled, and went back over to his bed. He soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming of books, carriages, and curly brown hair.

The next morning, the Weasleys were recounting the girls' horrible experience, once again, this time to Hermione's friends, Harry Potter, his wife, Ginny, and Ginny's brother Ron. Hermione was quiet, while Gabby gave everyone all of the horrific details.

"It was ghastly," Gabby repeated for the fifth time. "But Hermione was ever so brave. She did not even cry when the one robber hexed her. I would have cried right away."

Harry looked over at Hermione and said, "You were hexed, too?"

"A small curse, it scraped my arm," she said, taking a bun and lathering butter on it. Fleur called the maid to clear the breakfast table, although Hermione was still eating. Apparently, Fleur thought Hermione had had enough to eat.

"Let us take a stroll along the gardens, Hermione," Harry said, offering her his arm. The two friends went out the back of Shell cottage, to stroll the gardens. Harry's countenance was rigid and reserved. Hermione realized that he was upset that she had been put in danger.

"Really Harry," Hermione reeled, "Gabby made everything seem so much more adventuresome, with villains and fair maidens in distress. She made it seem romantic almost. It's a good thing I did not tell her that the highwayman offered my book back to me, for a kiss."

Harry stopped walking. He turned and said, "If I find this man, he shall die a quite painful death."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said with a small laugh. "Please." The truth was, Gabby made Hermione seem braver, and the highwayman more dashing, when the truth was that Hermione was frightened the entire time, and the highwayman was a blackguard and a rake, although he had a nice smile, and a pleasant demeanor, and the most unusual colour of eyes. His eyes seemed almost familiar.

Harry broke her from her thoughts when he touched her arm and said, "Are you truly in good health, Hermione?"

"Yes, but I feel badly that Bill lost such a fine carriage," she said, as they walked along.

"There have been a number of robberies in Wizarding London over the last two months," Harry confided. "The Ministry believes it is an organized group. They are thinking about laying a trap for the rogues."

"Really?" she asked. "Perhaps I would have been safer in France."

"Among the frogs?" Harry asked with a sly smile.

"That is not at all kind, Mr. Potter," Hermione said with an equally sly smile.

Harry asked, "Do you miss your adopted home, Hermione?"

"My mother was French, you know. She considered herself an English woman, but she was born in France. I, too, am proud of being English, but I love my French heritage. I miss it. I am a simple country girl at heart," she said, wistfully. "I hate coming here, and I resent the fact that I must parade around in pretty ball gowns, just to sell myself to the highest bidder." She sat on a stone bench and kicked at the pebbled path with the toe of her boot.

"I say," Ron said, approaching them, "What are you two conspiring about over there?"

"We are talking about amphibians," Hermione joked.

"Frogs to be exact," Harry added.

"Well, on to more tepid conversations, I am sure, but what say you that we go to the assembly tonight. Show off Gabby and Hermione to the members of the ton?" Ron said. "Our girl here will be the prettiest girl there, save for my Hannah and your Ginny, of course."

Gabby came running out and said, "Yes, Hermione! Bill thought we should rest after our harrowing experience, but my sister insists that we go! We are to go shopping for gowns today! We leave in an hour!" The young girl ran back to the house.

Hermione sighed and said, "She shall have no trouble finding a husband, with at least five thousand a year."

"What of you, Hermione?" Harry asked, as Ron followed Gabby back to the house. "I remember a time when your father dictated that nothing but a titled English Muggle was good enough for his daughter. Why would he send you here, now?"

Hermione looked down and said, "He is very ill, Harry. Consumption. I think he wants me settled, because he fears he might not have long to live, and he has set his new wife to the task, and she thinks I would do better with a noble Wizard. A pureblood is her hope."

"Ah," Harry said. He stood up, and offered her the crook of his arm. "You know of the new law, do you not?"

"That purebloods must marry half bloods or Muggle-borns, or pay a fine? Yes, I have heard of that edict," she said as they walked back toward the house.

"Be careful, Hermione. I think that some might pick you, just because of the law."

"That does not mean that I shall accept just anyone, Harry," she replied.

"If your father dies, your stepmother will have the say. Even though you have reached your majority, you are a single woman, and the oldest living male relative, or his representative must approve marriage. It is an old Wizarding law, but an active one."

Harry looked gravely at her. She was not aware of that certain law. "But my father would never force me to marry if I did not wish it, and he will get better, so there is no need to fear," she said, hoping that was the truth.

As soon as everyone was ready to go into town, she feigned an illness, to stay behind, for she had a lot to consider. What if her new mother did force her to marry someone she did not wish? Perhaps she should go back to France, war or not, on her own. She knew it was silly to worry over nothing, her father would be well again, but still, the loss of her book made her miss her mother again, as silly as that seemed, and she felt the loss acutely, which made her fear of losing her father more likely.

She sat under a tall tree, on the ground, to consider such a plan, when she felt something hit her arm. She looked around, and saw nothing. She crossed her legs in front of her, and closed her eyes, when she felt another 'thing' hit her, this time on the thigh. She looked down, and there was a small pebble on her skirts.

She looked around and again, saw nothing. She was curious now, so she crossed her arms, closed her eyes once more, and the third time she felt something, she looked up. Among the branches, and the leaves, high up in the tree, was the masked man from the night before.

Hermione stood up as she screamed.

The man, surprised by her scream, fell to the ground, and landed on his back, by her skirts. She looked down at him, and he peered up at her.

"My lady," he said with a wince, from his place on the ground.

"Sir," she said back.

"How does one know if one has a broken bone?" he asked.

"You have no broken bones, I am sure," she replied.

"Are you certain? You surely cannot ascertain my injuries from way up there, and I assure you, I feel intense pain, everywhere," he said, still on the ground.

"That is your problem, not mine," she said, slightly amused. "However, it is so nice of you to drop by. I do hope you have my book with you."


	3. Chapter 3

All characters belong to JKR

* * *

_**16, April, 1813 –**_

_**Draco woke up suddenly, not aware if it was morning or night. As if sensing his confusion, the clock on the mantel chimed five times. He stood from his chair and grasped her hand in his. He placed his face close to hers and said, "It's been three days, my darling wife. It is time you wake up. You must live so that you can gloat over the fact that you have taught me to love again. Remember when I told you that you would never teach me a thing? I was so wrong." He kept her hand in his, and kissed her forehead.**_

_**The healer said if she had not woken up by the third day, she might never wake. It had been exactly three days, and still, she slept. Hence, he kept his vigil by her side. He would not leave her, ever again.**_

* * *

**Chapter 3: 23, June, 1812, The Day After:**

"I do hope you have my book," she said, leaning over his body, her hand stuck out, not out of charity, not to help him to stand, but for her bloody book!

"Madam, do you mind if I wait to see if I live, before you make requests of me?" he asked, as he lifted himself to a seated position.

He sat up against the tree, and looked around for his hat, which had fallen from his head when he fell from the tree. He spied it next to her foot. He reached around her, his hand skimming the material of her pretty, green dress. He placed the hat on his head and said, "Now then, what were you asking of me?"

"I should go in the house, have the men come out here and flog you, and then hand you over to the Aurors, you know," she said, tapping her foot in the dirt, and giving him a look, which rivaled his old governess.

"You make false claims, my dear," he said, standing up with some difficulty. "There are no men in the house. You are quite alone, and without chaperone. I would be shocked, but frankly, I'm not sure anything you do would surprise me."

"Says the man behind the mask, who fell from a tree," she said, pointing upward. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Are you not afraid?" he asked.

"Of robbers who climb trees?" she said with a laugh. "Hardly, sir."

"I will have you know, I did not climb the tree. I apparated into it, and furthermore, I would think the sight of a masked man would cause any proper lady to quake and quiver," he said, unapologetically.

"Quake and quiver," she repeated. "I have no carriage here for you to burn, so I feel safe at the moment. Furthermore, my wand is at the ready."

He regarded her closely, and she withdrew her wand from a pocket in her full skirt. "Ah," he said slowly. "Then perhaps we should get on to the business at hand."

"Which would be?" she asked.

"An exchange of sorts," he said. He pushed away from the tree and said, "You would like your book returned, is that not correct?"

"That is correct," she agreed.

"I have it here," he said. He pulled it from a pocket that was inside his black cape. She smiled, a smile which made his heart dance, if he indeed had a heart, which some claimed he did not. He tucked the book safely back inside his cloak and her smile turned to the saddest frown he had ever seen. He said, "No worries, my dear heart, the book will be returned, but you recall, I said it would be an exchange."

"Then you mean to ransom my book? Hold it captive?" she asked, annoyed.

"As you hold my heart captive, sweetling," he said. He took a step closer, and she put her wand under his chin. "Do you mean to scare me off, Miss?"

"I mean to get my book," she said seriously.

His hand, which wore no glove this morning, reached up for her wrist. It was an intimate touch, between strangers, skin on skin, and it caused her breathing to quicken and her knees to shake. His hand traveled from her wrist, up her hand, to hold her wand by the tip. He easily yanked it from her hold. He threw it lightly to the ground.

He reached back for her hand, and she let him hold it willingly, which was improper itself. She did not seem afraid, which he was glad. He did not want her to feel fear. She said, "If your proposition is for another kiss for my book, I feel remiss to tell you that will never occur, Sir."

"You assume too much, Miss," he retorted. "No, a kiss was the price for your book last night. This morning, the book is worth a bit more, so the price has gone up. You see, that is the way of things."

She tugged at her wrist. He released it easily. He continued, "No, what I want is for you to tell me one secret about you, that no one else knows. When I know ten things about you, intimate, endearing, private things, you shall have your book."

She gave him a hard glare, and backed into the tree. "You mean for me to tell you ten intimate, private things about me, right now, in exchange for my book?"

"Let me rephrase," he said. He removed his hat, and banged it against his leg. He even took off his cape. It was a warm morning. He threw both down on the ground. He tugged on his short coat, and said, "I only want one thing this morning. One thing a day. I'll oblige you as well, and tell you one intimate thing about myself."

"You mean to make me wait ten days for my book?" she asked, no longer annoyed, but rather interested.

He smiled. "That is the agreement, and then, being the gentleman that I am, you shall have your book."

"Are these ten intimate things to be in the form of questions posed to the other, or shall we select our own information to share?" she asked.

He walked around the tree. She remained in place. "That is a good question, my dear. I say, we shall only give the information we want to share, for I know your first question to me will probably be for my name, which for obvious reasons, I cannot divulge." He ended up in front of her again.

"Agreed," she said. That surprised him. What also surprised him was that he was originally only going to ask her for _one_ secret. Nonetheless, she agreed to his terms, so she must be anxious to continue to see him, as he was to see her. She said, "Shall we sit in the garden?"

"Will we be discovered?" he asked slyly.

"The others are engaged in town, as you seem to be aware." She walked over the same stone bench where she and Harry had sat before. It was in the middle of a high, rose garden, so they were still hidden from view. He bent down for his things and joined her on the bench. She sat with her knees facing the house. He sat the opposite way. This seemed more intimate to Draco.

"Ladies first," he said, "For I am nothing if not chivalrous."

She made a sort of snorting sound, which made him smile, but she placed her prim little hands on her lap, and she started to think. While she thought, he examined her.

She really was a radiant beauty. Her eyes were the colour of chestnuts. Her hair warm, and wavy, which today, she wore long. She had a spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. He had always admired her freckles, for some odd reason. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips puckered, as she continued to give her secret some thought.

"What say you, Miss? Have you a secret to share, or shall I continue to stare at you all day?" She turned to his question, and blushed. When she blushed, her cheeks turned the colour of a pink rose in the height of summer.

She finally said, "When I was small, before I started school, I was a lonely child. I didn't have any friends, I was educated at home, and my mother was often ill, so I was made to stay quiet by my father." She was quiet for a moment, as if to illustrate. He wanted to reach for her hand, to give her courage to tell her secret, but he did not want to seem more improper than he was already appearing, so he held his hands tightly together, in his lap.

She cleared her throat, and continued. "My only friends were my cat, Saffron, and my china doll, named Dorothea."

"Dorothea?" he asked, with a smile.

"I was a precocious child," she said, with a hint of a smile herself. "Anyway, I often had tea parties with my dolly and my kitty, or I read to them, but I had no real friends. The other children thought I was strange. I know now it was because my magical abilities were already well formed, even though I was very young, and I could do things others could not, and they were afraid of me."

"On my eighth birthday, my mother told my father she wanted to have a big birthday party for me, and he always gave both of us whatever we wanted, so we had a massive party. Every child, from the Duke's heirs to the lowly vicar's daughters came to my party. I was in awe. I thought, finally, I have friends! Imagine my shock when right before the presents were to be revealed, I heard one of the little boys tell another boy that his father was given a farthing to come to my party, and the other boy laughed and said, "My father held out for a sixpence." I was heartbroken. My father bought all of my friends. If he had not, no one would have come to my party."

She looked pensive for a moment, and then she looked back to the masked man. When he did not say a word to her missive, she said, "Needless to say, the next year, at my insistence, my only guests were my parents, my governess, by grandmother, the upstairs maid, the butler, and my kitty."

"Your dolly was excluded?" he asked lightly.

"Dorothea had met with an accident several months before, and her face was quite broken, so she was unable to attend," she said with a smile.

He felt badly for her. It sounded like she had a lonely and isolated childhood, much as he had. He wanted to say something reassuring to her, but the words would not come. Instead, he said, "Poor Dorothea."

"Quite," she said in return. "Your turn."

"My secret is that you have captured my heart, my lady." He took her hand in his, raised it to his face, and kissed it with a feathery, soft kiss. His breath was warm on her knuckles, and she lowered her eyes.

At that moment, a woman called from the house, "Hermione, come see the dress that Fleur bought you for the assembly tonight! It's beautiful!"

Hermione stood up so suddenly that she swayed slightly. He reached out and touched her arm, and then let it go when she was righted. "Go, Hermione."

She started to go, but then said, "How did you know my name?"

He smiled again and said, "I just heard someone call you that, from the house, did you not hear them, too?"

She smiled back. "Of course."

"Tomorrow?" he asked.

"Perhaps, or maybe even sooner," she said boldly.

He rather thought it would be sooner. "I shall hold you to that," he said. He rushed out of the garden. She stayed by the bench, and watched as he disapparated away, and she wondered, what had gotten into her. She had never shared that embarrassing secret to another living soul. It seemed easy to speak to this masked man, this man unknown. She found him affable, and kind, even generous, yet he was a highwayman, who set fire to an expensive carriage, and who stole her book. She even thought that he had set fired to her soul, and had stolen her heart, as well.

She felt a hand on her arm, and she gasped as she turned, thinking the man had returned. It was Gabby. "Hermione, are you alright? Did you not hear me calling you?"

"Yes, I heard. What colour is my new dress?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco was not planning to attend the assembly tonight, but when he had learned that Hermione was to be there, he changed his plans, and gladly so. He coerced two friends to attend with him. They were glad to go, but surprised that he wanted to attend. The party had already started when they entered the hall. Soon, all eyes were upon them, because Draco Malfoy, now Lord Malfoy with the death of his father, never attended any local functions, of any kind, much to the chagrin of most of the young ladies, and the young ladies' fathers, who would do anything to snag his ten thousand a year for their offspring.

Hermione stood with Fleur and Bill by the buffet table. She looked down at her beautiful gown, and although she stood out from the crowd, she was not aware. She felt the gown was beautiful, but feared that she herself paled in comparison. Fleur had wonderful taste. The dress was almost a golden shade, and it complimented both her skin and hair colour. Harry told her it brought out the gold in her eyes.

She was nervous, because she didn't know many people in attendance, and because she knew that she was meant to be on display, since she was supposedly 'on the marriage market' and that whole thought made her feel uneasy.

Several men asked for the first dance, but she lied to them all and said that it was already reserved. When the orchestra started, she would have to hide, not to be caught in her lie.

Fleur and Bill walked away from her, to go speak to his parents. She looked down at her skirt again, and when she looked up, she gasped, for someone entered the assembly hall, which she had not seen in a long time, and in fact, she had hoped never to see again.

Draco Malfoy had just entered, with a former classmate, Marcus Flint, who brought his friend, Oliver Wood, an affable Scottish man, who was at one time a rival, but was now his best friend.

Flint leaned toward Malfoy and said, "These are always tidy, if not boring little affairs, Malfoy. Why ever did you want to attend tonight?"

Oliver answered before Draco could. "Perhaps he had his eye on some of the bonny lasses, here. I say, there are many pretty gals here, tonight, don't you know, but none as pretty as the lassie I spy by the buffet table. How about her?" He pointed his head toward Hermione, and all three men looked her way.

Draco found it hard to swallow. She looked captivating, beautiful beyond compare, and she was looking right at him.

Flint said, "Wood, you would single out the prettiest girl here. I say, gents, is that not Harry Potter's little Muggle-born friend? Granger, Hermione Granger?"

"I dare say, it is," Oliver said with a laugh. "The last time I saw the lass, she was in petticoats and pigtails." He turned to the other men and said, "Let me see if her dance card is full. If not, for I hope to claim a dance or two."

Draco walked toward Hermione before Oliver could start his jaunt across. Flint held Oliver's arm, to hold him back, when he saw that determined look in Draco's eyes.

Before Draco could cross the room, Ginny Potter walked over to Hermione and said, "No one ever sees Draco Malfoy at these things. He thinks he is above such mundane entertainment, usually. Oh my, it seems he is coming toward us."

Hermione could not look away. Draco could not either. Several people stopped him, and he dismissed them quickly. Hermione took the chance to break her gaze from his, when another man pulled on Draco's sleeve for a chat.

She turned toward the refreshment table, and grasped onto the sides. She took a steady breath. Then she felt him behind her, as surely as she knew her own name, she knew he was standing behind her. She had not seen him since the war, and they had not parted friends. She shook, like a leaf, and she was ashamed of her pensiveness. She waited for him to speak, because she knew he would.

"Miss Granger," he said.

She turned to face him. He was so close, that she had to tilt her head upwards to look at him. He was taller than she had remembered. Almost as tall, if not taller, than her new friend, the highwayman. She quickly wondered why she compared the two, for there could not be any two men who were more different.

He wore all black, from his black knee, length boots, to his black breeches, black waistcoat, and black coat with tails. His shirt was a contrast, as it was white as virgin snow. His haircut short, as was the style, almost reminiscent of a Greek style, and when he extended his hand, she looked at it for a good solid minute, before she placed her own in it.

Finally, she placed her hand in his. It was warm and for an odd reason, which Hermione would never comprehend, it made her feel incredibly safe. "Lord Malfoy," she said, with a polite curtsey.

"Has anyone been bold enough to claim the first dance, Miss?" he asked.

She hardly knew what to say. Was Draco Malfoy actually asking her to dance? She was shocked. The music started a mere moment later, and without receiving an answer from her, he kept her hand and towed her out to the floor. He did not smile. He did not seem pleased to see her. He did nothing encouraging, yet he held her hand, until the music started and then he said, "If not, then shall I be so bold as to claim it for my own?"


	4. Chapter 4

**All characters belong to JKR**

* * *

**_17, April 1813_**

**_She finally opened her eyes. It was only for the briefest moments, but she opened her eyes. He was ready to give her up for loss, when she opened her eyes, and turned her head slightly toward him. He kneeled beside the bed, and placed his hand upon her arm._**

**_"Hermione?" he asked._**

**_She looked at him and then closed her eyes once again._**

**_"Cruel fate, do not toy with me," he said in despair. He stood, and took the chair that had been his mainstay for four days and smashed it into upon the hearth of the fireplace. He stormed out of the room, determined not to return to her, until she returned to him._**

**_He sat on the stairs, and remembered that day, during the war, when she called him a coward. Would she call him a coward now? He was a coward. He could not even bring himself to stay in the same room with her, and wait for her to open her eyes again._**

**_Yes, he was a coward._**

* * *

**Chapter 4: 23, June, 1812, The Assembly:**

He did not wait for her answer, which was good, for she was at a loss for words. The music started, and he took his place across from her. He bowed. She curtsied. It dawned on her that many eyes were upon them, something that she hated. With the up-tempo, he approached her, and took her hand, covered in a lace-knitted glove. His hands were bare, making their touch more intimate…skin on skin.

She was still at a loss for words.

They made a semi-circle around, held up their arms, and the next couple passed between them. He released her hands. Her chest was heaving, her throat closing. She could no longer hear the music. She was aware only of this man, and this time and space, and she wondered why? Why was he here? Why was he dancing with her of all people, but even more importantly, why did she care?

They came together, to walk the promenade between the two rows, males on one side, and females on the other, to take their place at the front of the line. They stood idle for a moment, which was the perfect time for him to ask her, "How long have you been back to England, Miss?"

"Just a few weeks, your grace," she said with eyes downcast.

"Your father is well?" he asked politely.

"He has been ill, sir," she said. "However, at the moment, he seems well."

"I am sorry to hear of the passing of your mother," he said. He knew it had been almost two years, but he was still sorry.

"Thank you, and I of your father," she replied. He was going to make a biting comment, because usually when people offered him condolences on his father's death, he did not believe them, but her statement seemed heartfelt, which was odd. If anyone should hold his father in ill favour, it was she.

However, she was sincere, so he said, "Thank you, Miss. My mother recently passed as well, had you heard?"

She gasped. "No, I offer additional apologies, my lord."

"Thank you." He came forward, and took her hand, as they made their way back through the throng, weaving, and ducking under arms, and around couples. They were now at the other end.

"You are very graceful, Miss Granger," he said, with proper propriety.

"That is not true, sir," she said with a slight smile. "I enjoy dancing, but I am nowhere as graceful as most of the young ladies in attendance, nor as beautiful."

"You do not want compared to the other young ladies, I am sure, and no one in their right mind would do so," he said back, although he suddenly seemed bored. The truth was, he was uncomfortable, because he thought she was the most beautiful creature in the room.

"I do not look for a false compliment, that is true," she said solemnly.

He had blundered that one. He was about to rectify it, when they had to join hands once more, for another turn. They turned and parted. They stood somewhere in the middle now. He took the opportunity to speak again. When they came back together, he took her hand in his, but made sure to place his other hand on her back, firmly, just below bare skin, still on her gown. She stiffened somewhat. He steered her toward the front, and said, "A false compliment would never do you. Only honesty and I honestly say that you are a rare, ray of fresh sunshine, in a room full of fallen stars."

She looked at him quickly, and then let out the breath she held when he first placed his hand on her back. It felt warm and right. It felt as if he was sending her a message, through his hand, to her back. He let it drop when they parted once more.

This time apart, she regarded him carefully. His hair was the colour of summer straw. He was classically handsome, with well-defined cheekbones and a nice, full mouth. When she last saw him, he was still young. He was now a man. A man with a purpose, it would seem, she just did not know what that purpose was, but whatever it was, it unsettled her.

Earlier today, she found herself giving romantic and whimsical thoughts of fancy to her highwayman, and now she was giving the same due to Lord Malfoy. She gave herself a rueful smile. She was becoming as silly about men as Gabriella.

She would have to remind herself that this man was an arrogant, selfish creature, who had never had a kind word for her, save for one time, which turned out to be a lie. She also needed to remind herself that her other 'would be' romantic hero was a blackguard of the worse degree.

Her stepmother would abolish her choice in either case.

As if enjoying her little sly smile, when they came together for the last turn around, he said, "I hope that smile is for me."

She was shocked, for it seemed he was flirting with her. She said, "It is in spite of you, I assure you."

That fine retort caused him to smile more. His earlier disdain, which was false, was turning into admiration, but he had to remember to keep on his mask, which he wore daily, just as he wore the real one as the highwayman. No one could see the real him, he promised himself that a long time ago. Not even this bewitching creature, which shimmered gold in her golden-hued gown, and was worth more than all the gold he could plunder.

The song ended, and he bowed, and she curtsied once more. As customary, he took her hand and led her to the side. He whispered low, "May I have the dance after the next?"

She could only nod her head.

She crossed over to Gabby, whose eyes were wide. "Lord Malfoy? You danced the first with the most eligible, richest man, in the room?"

"I guess I did," she said, noting the other girl's awe with a polite sense of ire.

"He is gorgeous, is he not?" Gabby said. "Too old for me, but perfect for you."

"I would never, I mean, no," Hermione stammered. She looked around the room. All the young women looked at her with envy, and the young men with jealousy. Her friends, Ron and Harry, looked disappointed. Fleur looked smug. Hermione excused herself and walked out into the hallway, to find the lady's retiring room.

She found the entrance to the door, had just opened it and crossed the threshold, which was covered by a screen, when she stopped. She stopped because she heard her name.

"I can't believe that Granger girl was dancing with Lord Malfoy, of all people!" a woman said.

"Yes, you know what they say happened to her during the war in his Manor," another said. "I care not that he was not implicated by the Ministry, he should have been thrown in prison to rot with the rest of the Death Eaters."

Another voice, a younger voice, said, "He was but a child and rumours are that he helped during the war as a spy."

The first woman said, "I know that as fact, because my husband, who as you know, is very close to the Minister of Magic himself, said it to be true. He worked for our side during the entire war, at great risk to himself, against his very own father!" Hermione heard several women gasp, as did she, though she placed her hand over her mouth. "No, my surprise is that such an eligible bachelor would pick a Muggle-born as plain as she!"

Hermione had heard enough. She turned from the doorway, pushed it opened, and headed toward the hallway.

So two things were evident. He worked for their side during the war, which he proclaimed to her all those years ago, and she called him a liar and a coward. In addition, his attention to her was false, which she already suspected. She was not sure why she was surprised. She never did have many genuine friends. The fact was that Harry and Ron might be her only two.

She walked back to the assembly, looked inside, and saw all the people dressed in their fineries, and all in happy, cheerful moods. The place was alit with glowing candles throughout, made brighter by magic. Everyone was laughing, eating, and dancing, now that the music swelled once more. And as in life, she stood on the outside, looking in, feeling every bit the outsider that she knew she was. To think, she had almost given herself over to the sheer excitement of it. She was glad that she had not.

She turned to leave, when someone reached for her hand. She turned quickly, and Lord Malfoy said, "You promised me the third, Miss, and I've come to collect."

This time as they dance, he could not bring her into conversation, no matter how hard he tried. Instead, she seemed to study him, so he took the time to study her as well. She smiled once, when a young girl stepped on her toe, so she was forever gracious. Her smiled dazed and delighted him. When she looked from the girl to him, she was still smiling, even if it plummeted soon after. She sparkled, full of life.

Yet underneath the façade, he found a certain sadness, which he had always observed, and which always both troubled and intrigued him. After her story of a lonely childhood today, he understood her a bit more. It would be pleasurable to find out all of her secrets, to peal them away, layer by layer, and get to know the real her. Perhaps someday, she would even get to know the real him. It was a nice thought.

Though the room was small, cramped with people, and the company boorish, he was glad to be here, in her presence. Finally, as they stood to the side, to await their turn, he said, "Are you bothered by the crowd and the warmth, Hermione?"

He said her name. She was awestruck by that fact. It seemed so intimate, rolling off his lips the way it did. She found herself nodding. He approached her, breaking ranks with the other dancers, took her arm, and pulled her to a set of double doors, which led to a balcony. He ushered her to a bench, and he said, "Let me go find you a drink of something cold and refreshing. Stay here, please."

Again, she only nodded, perplexed by the man, and somewhat intrigued by his advances, if not weary of them, too.

He came back with two glasses, handed one to her, and sat beside her on the bench. He saw no impropriety in the act, as they were not the only couple on the patio. She said, "You are causing auspicious rumors, tonight, my lord."

He raised the cup to his lips, but lowered it again, and said, "Do tell."

"Rumor has it that you attend very few of these things, though you are deemed the most eligible bachelor of these parts," she elaborated, taking a drink of her punch. She held it in her lap.

He raised his eyebrows and said, "Usually I find the company boring."

"But not tonight?" she asked.

"The company tonight is a bit boring," he said perfectly serious. He turned and said, "Present company excluded."

"Well, thank you, I suppose," she said, sarcastically. "I just wonder what brought you out tonight, sir, if the company, myself withstanding, is usually boring to you."

"Indeed, ma'am, and your conclusion?" he asked, turning his full attention to her, which seemed full of disdain and mockery, but which was actually amusement.

"I have not yet ascertained your motives, but I am determined to find out before the night is over," she said, with a hint of flirting.

However, her declaration made him smile. He said, "You always were a curious creature, who could not rest until a mystery was solved. You want to unravel my motives, I say, unravel away, but you might not like what you find."

She sighed and said, "I might not like what I find, that is true, but I am still determined." He raised another eyebrow, but made no comment to her statement.

She stood, placed her glass on the bench, and strolled to the banister. She placed her hands upon it. He came to stand beside her and said, "Why are you pensive this evening."

"I might owe you an apology," she said.

"You only stepped on my foot twice, so apology accepted," he said. She turned with a confused look, but he was smiling again, a smile only made brighter by the moon and the stars. "Oh, were you not referring to your abysmal dancing?"

"Abysmal? I said I was not overtly graceful, but I am nowhere abysmal!" she harped.

"Lacking would be a better word," he said, teasing her.

"I lack nothing!" she snapped.

"But a sense of humor," he muttered. He turned to face her and said, "What apology do you owe to me, then, Miss?"

She was not sure how to phrase it, nor did she get the chance, when she heard Fleur call her name from the doorway of the balcony. "Hermione, we must leave. Bill is not feeling well."

She started to leave the patio, but turned to Draco and curtsied once more and said, "Thank you for the dance."

"Madam, the apology?" he asked, curious now.

"Perhaps another time," she said, turning quickly to leave.

He smiled. Yes, he would definitely be seeing her 'another time'.


	5. Chapter 5

**All characters belong to JKR**

**_18, April 1813_**

**_She lifted her head. She was thirsty. She saw no one in the room with her. She was not completely certain where she was. This was not home. Where was her father? Where were her friends? Then, she remembered everything…her father, her friends, and where she was, and hot tears burned behind her eyes._**

**_She tried to raise her head, but it felt as if it was made of granite, and there was an awful pounding behind her eyes. She closed them once more. Before she closed them, she felt something brush against her cheek. She turned her head slightly, saw her husband's face, saw him lower his hand from her cheek, and then she closed her eyes again._**

**_It was all too much to take._**

* * *

**Chapter 5: 23, June, 1812, After the Assembly:**

Walking back into the hall, she turned for some reason, and immediately saw Lord Malfoy standing against the wall, staring at her, and she suddenly felt warm and slightly lightheaded. She walked toward her party, and saw that Bill was looking quite ill. Fleur was waiting for her. She said, "Bill has taken ill, so George will see us home. It has been decided that you shall stay with Harry and Ginny, and spend the night at Grimmauld Place."

"I do not mind leaving with you," Hermione told her stepsister.

"No, your entertainment should not be halted because of a case of the full moon," Bill said with a slight smile. Hermione understood what he meant. "Gabby, you should come with us."

"Nooo," the young girl cried out. "If Hermione stays, I would like to stay, also."

"You shall come home with us," Fleur reiterated her husband's sentiments. For that reason, it was decided that Hermione should stay behind with Harry and Ginny, and Ron and Hannah. She really would have rather gone back to Shell cottage. Immediately after they left, she danced four more sets, one with Oliver Wood, one with Marcus Flint, one with Ron, and one with a Mr. Terrence Boot, a smart, amicable, but somewhat dull classmate of hers, from Hogwarts.

However, the man she wished to dance with, as much as it pained her to admit, was Lord Malfoy, the man who claimed the first dance. He had not asked her again, nor had he had not asked any of the other young ladies, much to the vexation of everyone in the room. Instead, he remained by the wall, looking sometimes solemn, sometimes moody, and other times deep in thought, but the whole time staring directly at her.

While waltzing with Mr. Boot, Hermione found her mind wandering to her highwayman. It would be nice to feel his hand upon her back, her other hand tightly in his. It would be nice to look into his eyes. Then, she looked over toward Lord Malfoy, who was _still_ staring right at her, and she imagined his arms about her, twirling her around in time to the music.

What was wrong with her? Dreaming over one man was bad enough, but she was dreaming over two, equally unattainable, men. What was next? Was the sky to fall? Was the world ending? Both of these things seemed more likely to happen, than Hermione Granger pining over not one, but two, men.

She looked up again, and he continued to stare. He looked angry. He had no reason to be angry. He did not claim another dance with Hermione, and really, that was fine with her. As the waltz ended, Hermione said a quick thank-you, and threaded her way around the other dancers as they left the floor. She slipped back outside.

He followed her.

She knew he would.

When he reached her outside, he said, "You seem to be the belle of the ball tonight," almost in an accusatory tone.

"And you are more like a wall fixture, or a statue," she returned, leaning against the balustrade of the patio. "Did you come to an assembly tonight to merely stare at the dancers?"

"Yes," he said with an arrogant smile, "I came to merely stare, although not at all of the dancers, perhaps just at you. I find that I am quite good at it."

"So it seems," she said. Mr. Boot came out the doors, calling her name, and she said, "Dash it all. Mr. Boot wants to dance again!"

He laughed and said, "Where is that Gryffindor courage? Go tell the man to go to Hades and back, if you do not wish to dance with him again, although you seemed to enjoy your waltz with him."

"He stepped on my toes three times!" she said, holding up three fingers.

"The next dance is a quadrille. He shall hardly touch you for that, only your hand, and in a group of four. Shall I call him over?" He looked toward Mr. Boot and said, "Mr. Boot?"

"Stop it," she hissed. She stood up and hid partially behind Draco and a large shrub, as Mr. Boot came closer.

"Hello there, Malfoy, have you seen Hermione Granger?" he asked.

"I think she is hiding behind me as we speak," Draco said. Hermione took a stick from the bush and poked him in the side. He winced and said, "Actually, she said she was going to the lady's retiring room for a rest."

"Oh, I shall wait for her out there. Good show, old man," he said as he walked away.

Draco turned around and laughed at her. "You coward," he said in fun.

"You should know a coward when you see one," she snapped back.

He was suddenly angry. Without thinking of what he was doing, he took her wrist and pushed her back toward the shrub. When she could not back any further, he said, "Madam, I beg you to never call me that word again. I thought I made that clear years ago. If I must repeat it, I shall."

"Let go of my wrist," she said with an angry glare. "You are an arrogant, vain and vile man, who is nothing but a liar, a traitor, and a coward, and if it pains you for me to utter the truth, then that is your problem, not my own!"

He let go of her wrist and said, "For that, you will pay. You will pay dearly."

He stormed off and she rubbed her wrist. His sudden indignation was fine with her. She had never shown him an ounce of encouragement, and she did even like the man. How could he walk around free among the genteel people, while others, who did less than he did in the war, were behind bars? She did not care what she overheard in the lady's retiring room earlier. She did not believe anything those women said.

Years ago, during the war, when she first called him a coward, he did nothing to refute the claim, so why the sudden offense at hearing the word? She felt slight remorse, but not enough to find him and apologize.

She walked back inside, and he was back to leaning against the wall, only this time, he looked angry. His arms were crossed, and he was still staring at her, but this time, his stare was filled with hate.

Good. Let him hate her. He was fair-haired, good-looking, but what other features did he have to recommend him? He was not good-natured, kind, nor generous of spirit. There was not even the smallest amount of dignity in the man, because if there were, he would not have handled her so roughly.

She even felt he was slightly dangerous. She was more afraid in his presence than when she was in the presence of the highwayman.

Well, his bad nature solved one problem for her. She no longer had two men in which to divide her attention. She now had only one, and he was a robber! Heaven help her.

She glanced back his way, and she suddenly felt guilty for speaking so rashly to him. She realized her judgment of him was harsh, and full of condemnation, but the unkind thoughts she had of his lesser traits were traits in which she was always aware that he had, and he was aware of them as well. Except for one. She should not have called him a coward. She was going to apologize earlier, but stopped. She was determined this time. She would apologize.

She begged off another dance and went over to find him, but he was no longer holding up the wall. She went to the card room, and did not find him there. She went to the front of the assembly hall, and saw him on the steps outside, speaking to the two men whom he arrived with, Mr. Wood and Mr. Flint.

She stayed just inside the doorway, to listen to their conversation, so if she found a lull, she could find a way to interlope in the conversation, gain his attention, and prove that she was the bigger person, hence, she would apologize.

"I myself will never marry," Malfoy told his friends. "The Ministry shall never have a single galleon of my money, and besides, if I cannot have a pureblood, no witch will do. They have already taken enough of my inheritance, and have seen fit to spread it among all sorts of fools all over the countryside."

Mr. Wood said, "Even a fine lass like Miss Granger could not persuade you, Malfoy?"

"Especially not her," he said with disdain.

Hermione backed into the shadows of the doorway.

Flint laughed and said, "Aye, she's pretty enough for dancing, but not marriage material, at least not for a proud sort like Malfoy. As far as the Ministry goes, you have it no worse than the rest of us, old man. We all had to pay for our sins in the war."

"I paid more than most!" Draco practically shouted. "And instead of my own sins, I paid for the sins of my father!"

"Calm down, Malfoy," Oliver said. "Flint just means that most purebloods have had their inheritance picked over, and you are still filthy rich, after all. By the by, I heard that your father's carriage was destroyed the other night by a highwayman. Poor show, I say, but we cannot live in the past."

"I say," Flint started, "how did we go from talking about marriage and Mudbloods, to talking about inheritance and carriages? I think someone should grab that little Mudblood, and kiss her senseless, and marry her quick. I hear she has a rather large dowry. Her Muggle father has a title, and is very wealthy. And shall I remind you, Malfoy, you danced the first with her, and the third."

"And that is all I would dare to dance with her. It was a pity dance, and nothing more. I only lowered myself because it seemed the thing to do. I wanted to flaunt it to all the members of the Ministry here tonight, and to Potter, but I have no illusions, gentlemen. She is now, and forever will be, beneath me, and I could care less for her Muggle money," he sneered.

"I think the Mudblood's dowry could help lick your wounds, Malfoy," Flint said with a laugh.

Oliver frowned and said, "I don't like that word. Mudblood. You should stop saying it, Flint."

"Why?" Draco leered. "That is what she is. She is pretty enough and smart, but none of us should ever entertain marrying someone such as she. We have to fight these restrictions set up by the Ministry. Tell me why it is that the members of the Order and the light side can find ways around these marriage restrictions? That is what I want to know!"

"Bah," Oliver said. "Be content with bachelorhood, then Malfoy, for the restrictions will never be lifted. Now, I think I shall go back inside, and dance another. Perhaps with Miss Granger."

"I say, Wood doesn't get to dance all the dances with her. I demand my due," Marcus laughed. Both men walked inside, right past an undetected Hermione, who still stood mostly in the shadows.

Draco called a footman to collect his curricle. Hermione took that moment to step out of the shadows. She took two steps down from the covered entryway. He turned when he felt her presence.

He looked stunned to see her.

She said, "I came to apologize for calling you a coward earlier tonight. That was wrong of me. However, it was wrong of you to say the unkind things you just said to your friends about me. Neither thing either of us said was true, at least, as far as I am concerned. As I said, it was my intent to come out here and apologize, but now I find myself feeling less inclined to do so, so I shall not."

He wondered how much she had heard. He felt like a bastard. For some reason, she always seemed to bring out both the best and the worst in him, but that was his fault, not hers.

She turned and walked back into the hall. He cursed aloud, and told the footman to hold his carriage. He walked back inside to find her. She had overheard his false accusations, which he had only said because she had hurt his pride, not because they were completely true. His dancing with her had nothing to do with her blood status, or showing up her friends and the Ministry, or pity, and had everything to do with the fact that he merely wanted to be close to her! She had spoken the truth, when she said that they had both made unfair assumptions about the other. He must accept her apology, and beg for his own.

She looked into the crowd, saw the dancing and festivities, and she realized that among all of these people, she was still an outsider. She was tired of trying to prove her worth to them. Perhaps that was how Lord Malfoy felt as well. She was enclosed with her guilt and shame. She was at odds with her own emotions. She turned to seek him out once more, and she when she turned, she ran directly into his chest. His arms went around her. The last waltz of the evening started, and without acquiesces, or consent, he took her into his arm, and pulled her out onto the floor.

He tried to appear nonchalant, and she tried to appear as if breathing was not difficult, although neither was successful with their ruse. He smiled, a smile that still did not reach his eyes, and he said, "I am suddenly behaving like a perfect gentleman, although my actions earlier were anything but. Permit me to seek your apologies."

She felt safe and warm in the confines of his arms. A battle raged inside her. She did not even like this man! She said, "The problem is solved, as we have both apologized, and have both accepted. Thank you for the dance, but I shall burden you no longer."

"But you rescinded your apology, and rightly so," he reminded her.

"So I did, and so it shall remain," she said, with hurtful of pride. She moved from his arms, long before the dance was complete. If she did not leave the confines of his arms immediately, she did not know what might happen! She curtsied, and then rushed up to Harry, who was in the card room. She whispered something in his ear. He looked over at Malfoy, nodded toward Hermione, and stood. He went to his wife, and a few moments later, they all left the hall. However, as Draco walked over to the doorway, Potter crossed back into the room.

"Malfoy," he said. "I have a strong request, well, not really a request, but if you will, a command. Leave Hermione Granger alone. She is not for you."

"Really, Lord Potter? And on whose authority do you warn me from her?" Draco asked.

"My own," Harry said with no glimmer of humour. "I will not oblige your playing games with her emotions. I shall see her and my wife home now, so I beg my leave." He bowed slightly to the other man, and he stormed out of the assembly hall.

Draco Malfoy leaned once again against the wall. Potter was so self-righteous. Who was he to warn him against anything! That reminded Draco. There was a very expensive, old tome, which once resided in the library of the Manor, which Draco had heard was now gracing the library of a certain Grimmauld Place. Perhaps it was time for the bandit to make a visit to Lord Potter's house. Tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

**All characters belong to JKR**

**_19, April 1813_**

**_He looked out the window, but instead of seeing the blue sky, or the green earth, he only saw his own reflection. She woke up sometime during the night, but she did not speak, nor would she look at him. He had no clue as to what she remembered. If she did remember, he had no idea if she would ever forgive him._**

**_Before her accident, she told him that she would never forgive him for his betrayal. He did not know if she meant his recent betrayal or the fact that she still thought he had revealed her identity to his aunt and to the Dark Lord during the war. However, one betrayal was real, and the other was not. He swore up and down that he was not the traitor that she thought he was. Though he had told her so, years ago, she did not believe it then, and apparently, she did not believe that now. That was his greatest regret, along with the fact that she told him that she did not love him._**

**_It no longer mattered. Even if she did not believe him, even if she called him traitor and coward every day of their lives, one fact remained evident. He loved her._**

**_He stood by her window and turned quickly when he heard her stir. She looked up at him. He looked down at her. Let her be the first to look away. He continued to stare at her, until finally, she closed her eyes._**

**_And she called him the coward._**

* * *

**Chapter6: 24, June, 1812, Night time at Grimmauld Place:**

The house at Grimmauld Place had changed greatly since the days when it had been used for the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix during the war. Truly, Harry and Ginny had made it into a wonderful, warm, and inviting home. Hermione had always felt warmth and comfortable here; even when the house was as dark and dank as a tomb. Now she felt even more comfortable, if that was possible.

The residents of the home had gone to bed long ago, but Hermione could not sleep. Sleep was rudely staying at bay. She knew it was because she could not turn off her thoughts about Lord Malfoy.

Why was it he always seemed to do one thing, only to contradict that same thing with a misdeed or an ill-advised action? He danced with her, when rumors were that he rarely danced, and then he told his friend he did it out of pity! He told her she looked nice, only to tell his friends that she was beneath him! Truly, the man perplexed her.

It was how it always was. There was a time, so long ago, during the war, when he came to her aid in an hour of need, but then all of that goodwill was washed away with one single act. He betrayed Hermione, Harry and Ron to the Dark Lord during the war. Then he had the gall to try to help her later, and to tell her that he was sorry, and to ask forgiveness. When she called him out, accused him of being a turncoat, he claimed innocence.

Why apologize if one was innocent?

In addition, why was Hermione sitting alone in the library at Grimmauld Place spending even one spare moment or thought on the infuriating man, with the striking grey eyes and the broad, masculine shoulders?

She hissed and stood up to find a book to read. She had just walked up to a shelf when she heard a loud thump. She turned, a book in hand, other hand over her chest, startled. She stood stock-still for a moment, and when she heard nothing more, she moved to a loveseat by the windows and opened the book.

Then she heard another noise. She wore only a light nightgown, covered by a dressing gown, and she did not have her wand. Surely, it must be one of the house elves, or Harry or Ginny, who had made the nocturnal noise. Harry had to have wards in place, certainly. She took several shallow breaths, while she continued to listen. When she heard nothing else, she sat back down, opened the book and began to read.

Draco had gotten into the house easier than he thought he would. First, he knew that precious Potter probably had numerous wards set, but he knew as much, if not more, about wards than Potter did, so he got around those easily. Of course, there was the small fact that this house had a concealment charm over it, and one could not enter unless a member of the family admitted them entrance. However, Draco had 'Black' blood in him, from his mother's side, and he had a suspicion that anyone with family blood would be able to enter without being invited.

He was right.

Therefore, he entered through a coal cellar, and he fell down coming up the steps, toward the kitchens. Then, one of the little house elves saw him, but it was easy enough to stun. However, the nasty little thing made quite a noise as he fell over. Draco walked over the elf, and strolled up the rest of the stairs, his wand at the ready.

He knew exactly where the library was. Whether or not the book was in the library was another story. It was a book on the Black Family, a family history so to speak, but since Harry Potter held his dead godfather, Sirius Black, at such a high esteem, he might have the book locked up somewhere. Draco would worry about that later. He had to search the obvious places first, the most obvious being the library.

He tiptoed in the room, and then he froze in shock.

The woman sitting in the loveseat looked up, and froze along with him. She stood up, simultaneously dropping the heavy tome that was in her lap. Then she started to scream. Draco rushed to her, pulled her over to him, wrapped the hand that held his wand around her waist, and brought the other hand over her mouth.

"I beg you not to scream, Miss."

She nodded. He removed his hand slowly, but kept his arm tightly around her. She was pressed most intimately against him, a fact noticed by them both. She pushed away, and he allowed it. What was she doing at Grimmauld Place, and in the library, no less?

"What do you want here? I have to tell you, I cannot let you steal anything from Harry Potter," she said. "He is my best friend in the whole world."

"I've only come to speak with you, sweet lady," he said as a lark. Let her think that. After all, he didn't mind that she was here. It had all worked out rather nicely. He felt they had ended things badly at the assembly, and while he could hardly reveal that he was the man who had said beastly things about her only hours ago at a boring little dance, he could find out if she had since healed from his slight.

She was taking deep, labored breaths. He looked down at her heaving chest quickly, but then back up to her eyes. "How did you know I was here?" she asked finally.

"I have my ways. Do you have another secret at the ready? Another thing to reveal to me?" he asked.

"Are you mad?" she asked in return.

"Not particularly," he said back.

"Harry Potter will kill you if he finds you here. He was very angry when he heard about the robbery. He said he would kill you if he found you. He also said that the Ministry is about to lay a trap to catch the bandits. Tell me, are you behind the rash of recent robberies?" she asked.

"If I were, would I admit to such a feat?" he asked. He sat down on the loveseat, which was still warm from her body. He reached down for the book that she had dropped and said, "This book is more appropriate for you, more so than a book of fairytales, I dare say."

"Really, you must leave," she said. She pulled on his arm. He looked down at her hands, as they pulled on his coat. He looked back up at her, and smiled. He had not moved one iota.

He patted the seat next to him and said, "Time for confessions, my sweet lady. I need confession number two. Surely, you would like to have your book back someday. For that to happen, I insist on another secret."

She threw her hands in the air and said, "You are mad."

He patted the seat again.

"Fine," she said with an annoyed tone. She sat next to him and said, "What shall I reveal?"

The fact that she seemed annoyed by his presence annoyed him a bit. It was understandable, however. He said, "Tell me one thing that would make me think you're less than perfect, for in my mind's eye, you are perfection personified."

She laughed. At him. "Oh, that was poetic incarnate, but slightly amusing," she said with a smile. "Thank you, for I feel I needed a laugh. I have had a trying evening."

"Were you robbed at wand point tonight?" he asked.

"Not tonight," she said back lightly.

"Then surely," he started, "you have had shoddier nights. Were you not going dancing tonight? Something about new dresses and dancing were uttered the last I saw you," he said. He smiled and she blushed.

"I went dancing, but it was not all that I thought it might be," she admitted, looking toward the floor. She was suddenly quiet.

"I see," he said. He took her hand in his. It was a daring move, but as long as she could not see who he was, he felt bolder. He examined her hand. Her fingers were long and feminine. They were delicate, even fragile looking. He dropped her hand back on the seat between them, less he bring it to his lips, and cause another scandal. He said, "Why was your evening not as it should have been? Did someone trod on your toes? Was the music abhorrent? What was it?"

"The company was not as I wished it to be," she said cryptically.

"Were you left without a partner, while others around you danced?" he asked. He was curious as to what she might reveal about her feelings toward him.

She looked at him in earnest and said, "Oh, no. I danced a number of dances. I actually like to dance. It makes me nervous to dance with many people around, and knowing that people are watching me, but I do like to dance, it is just that I would prefer to do it alone."

"That would be sad, wouldn't it?" he asked. "As well as quite difficult."

She smiled, and said, "I mean, I think I would enjoy dancing more if others were not watching. I would still need a partner."

"I see," he said with a small grin, and nodding his head. "So, you danced. That's good. Was something lacking in the conversation part of the evening?"

"I had some nice conversation," she said slowly, her gaze traveling downward. "No, it is just, I am slightly…" and she faltered.

"Slightly, what? Amused? Sad? Bemused? Mad?" he asked, leaning his head down to look in her downcast eyes.

She had to smile again and said, "I was neither amused, bemused, sad nor mad. What I was, was a fool." She stood up and walked over to the window, to look out into the night sky. There was only a small sconce on the wall, with one small candle, and the night was very dark, but the light from the sconce bounced off the windowpane, and he could see her reflection. She looked sad, even though she claimed that she was not.

He stood up and said, "I stand here before you, in a mask, and you think you are a fool, my lady?" He turned her around, his hand lightly on her elbow. She turned to look at him.

"This is highly irregular, to talk so informally with you, a robber, a rogue, and yet, I feel more comfort with you than I do with most," she said candidly.

"Thank you; I feel reciprocal feelings, my lady." He sat back down and said, "Please, continue. Why would you say that you were a fool? Surely that is not your confession."

"No," she said with just a grace of a smile. She joined him back on the loveseat. "I am a fool, because I let myself be deceived by someone, a certain someone who deceived me one time before. It hurt just as badly this time as it did the first time."

Draco felt as if she had plunged a dagger into his heart, because he knew it was him in which she spoke. He knew she meant the betrayal of tonight, and of what she had perceived as betrayal years ago. He wondered how she would feel if she knew that he was deceiving her once more, as the masked man. He shuddered to think.

He said, "Anyone who would deceive you would be deemed the fool, my sweet. Not you. Never you." He no longer felt the need to stay. He cared less about that damn book that he had come to steal than he did about the fact that he had hurt her feelings earlier.

He stood to leave and said, "Thank you for the confession. I hope you do not mind if I keep my confession to myself tonight."

He walked toward the door and she said, "Wait! Remember, I said that was not my confession!"

He turned back slowly. He said, "No?"

"No. You said that you wanted a confession that would show me as less than perfect. I have a prime example for you."

"Do tell, I am all aflutter waiting for your reveal," he said, once more with a smile. He joined her for the third time on the loveseat.

"Once, when I was at Hogwarts, we went to Honeydukes for sweets, and I stole a piece of candy."

"You stole? Shocking," he said with a small laugh.

"You steal!" she blurted out, accusing him of the obvious.

"What did you steal? If you take a free sample that they give out, I hate to dispute your reputation as a thief, but that is not stealing," he mocked.

She hit his arm, which he found even more amusing than her little anecdote. She said, "No, it was not a sample. I gave the man enough money for five pieces of peppermint, and he gave me six, and I never pointed out his mistake."

He laughed. She looked around, as if she felt guilty, and placed her hand over his mouth. She felt his warm breath on his hand, and she quickly removed it. "Be quiet! Someone might hear!" she beseeched.

"I am truly sorry, but you are beyond amusing." He continued to laugh. "At least I feel as if I have a kindred spirit in you, now that I have the knowledge that we are both thieves."

"I am happy that I amuse you, sir," she said with an aggravated air. "Now, I demand a real revelation from you this time, for that was our bargain. Out with it, you cad."

He took a deep breath in and said, "I'm not at all certain I can top that terrible revelation, but I shall try."

"Stop and desist making fun of me immediately," she said with a slight smile. He was still laughing. Finally, he stopped and she said, "Tell me one of your secrets, and as I said, I want a real one this time, not some sham compliment about me or your feelings."

He said, "My feelings are humbly hurt by your disparaging remarks, but as down trodden as I feel, I shall carry on. Let me think." He thought for a moment and said, "I may not be able to surpass stealing an extra piece of candy, but I have to admit that I never dance. I have no grace at all. People point and stare at me when I try, and they laugh aloud and mock me."

She smiled. She found that this man made her happy. She asked, "They mock you? The scoundrels! We should thrash the lot of them. In addition, you claim at having no grace, and that, I am sad to admit, I believe. I was there when you fell from the tree, remember?"

"Too true," he said. "Do you not at least feel slightly sad for me, as well? At least you had the chance to dance tonight. I was not granted the same privilege, unless, no, you would never consent to dance with me, my lady, would you?"

She sat back in the loveseat and asked, "What? Dance? Here? Now?"

"Yes." He stood up and bowed to her. With a small flick of his wand, music from places unknown began to play, in a sort of silent undertone, so quiet that it would not disturb members of the household. He smiled at her and held out his hand. "Madam?"

"It would be highly inappropriate," she said. She placed her hand up to her chest.

"Miss, it is only a dance. You said that you liked to dance. You said that you prefer to dance while others were not around to watch." He leaned forward, and said in a hushed tone, "I assure you, we are quite alone." He watched her eyes, which suddenly seemed to grow larger, deeper, and darker. Then her eyelids closed slightly, hiding her eyes from his view, as she looked down at her lap.

"I should not dance with you," she concluded.

"I should not steal from beautiful ladies, but there you go," he said lightly. He heard her smile, before she even lifted her face to show it to him.

"There is something so familiar about you," she suddenly said.

"This is the third time we have met," he said, swallowing hard. He could not let her discover who he was, not yet. It would break the spell between them. She would go back to hating him, and he would hate that. He leaned down and took her right hand from her lap. It was cold. He placed it between both of his. He pulled her to stand.

"Your eyes," she said suddenly.

"Miss?"

"Your eyes. There is something so familiar about your eyes," she said slowly. "Even behind a mask, your eyes seem familiar, almost kindred."

"I am sure the only familiar thing about my eyes is the fact that I have two," he said, as a joke. He was afraid she would recognize the colour of his eyes, because although he changed his hair, he did not change the colour of his eyes. It was dark in the room. Perhaps she would not pay attention to the colour. He must be more careful next time. He would have to try to conceal the colour, just in case she discovered who he was, only he would wait until next time, not now. Now, he meant to dance with her again, this time unencumbered by the stares and attitude of others, and with no guilt or vexation on his part, and no anxiety on her part.

She felt betrayed by the way her heartbeat quickened as he held her hand in his. For him even to appear here at Harry's house, in the middle of the night, was outrageous, but it was sheer idiocy for her to be so intimate as to dance with the man.

Nevertheless, she found that she wanted to throw deportment aside, and dance, dance, dance with this masked man, by the light of a single candle, with a distant, quiet melody playing in the background, his body against hers. So she consented. She felt as if she had lived the last few years hidden among dark, grey clouds, and now she was being invited to dance in the sunlight, with a man of her dreams. Then, dash it all, as soon as she felt this bliss, she felt betrayal, when a passing thought went through her head: why could it not be Lord Malfoy?

They twirled around the library, in a waltz, his hand holding one of hers, his other hand pressed on her back, her other hand resting on his shoulder. The light from the candle swirled in the darkness as they turned and twirled. It was improper, and absurd, and she felt equal parts happy and sad, brokenhearted and overjoyed. She was falling in love with this man, and she was falling out of love with another. What was a girl to do?

They continued to twirl in a timely dance, around the large room. She said, "I think your claims of having no grace was a ruse, sir, for you have plenty of grace to spare."

He moved the hand that held her back, up to cup her cheek. He looked deeply in her eyes and said, "As I think your claims of being a thief earlier is _no longer_ a ruse. I now believe you, for you have stolen my heart and perhaps, my love."

That one statement made her stop dancing. It was too much. He had just proclaimed love for her, even though they hardly knew each other, and he was a robber, and a blackguard to the tenth degree. Besides, she had long decided that she was not at liberty to give her heart or her love to anyone, because she had given it away once, and it felt as if it was still entailed to that person, although it was unbeknownst to him.

She suddenly pushed away from her cad, her private robber, and she said, "I am so sorry, but I must not do this. You must not seek me out again. Keep my book if you must. I'm sorry. You must leave, and never, never, say such things to me again, and please, promise me that you will no longer seek out my company."

She did not wait to hear his response, nor did she wait to see if he would leave. Instead, she ran from the room. He heard the soft pitter-pat of her bare feet on the hardwood floors as she rushed down the hall.

Moreover, he knew her anguish, because he felt it, too, damn her! He would not let tonight go to waste. Certain that she would not betray him, he looked for the book on the Black Family, and when he found it, not in a place of glory, but sitting idle on a shelf with other books, he took it into possession, along with the one she dropped, two others, and a small painting. He went back down the stairs, toward the kitchen, to the coal cellar, to make his escape.

Outside, he apparated home, and then once at home, he threw his bounty on the floor, sank in a chair, and cursed the day that he was born, because he knew that he loved her and he could not tell her the truth, and what was more, she would never truly love him, as himself.

Once upstairs, in the safety and solitude of the guest bedroom, Hermione sank into a chair, and cursed the day that Lord Malfoy was born, because she loved him, she could never tell him the truth, and what was more, he would never love her in return.


	7. Chapter 7

All characters belong to JKR

**_22, April 1813_**

**_He knew she was awake. She had been awake for days now. He knew that she could hear him. Even if she did not want his company, she would have to abide him. The healer came earlier and told him that the danger had passed. Her maid helped to bathe her, and changed the linens and her gown. Her friends came to see her, but she slept during their visit._**

**_She was not sleeping now, so now it was his time to visit. He sat on her bed, in an all too familiar way, but they were married, so she would have to tolerate that as well. He stroked her arm, and she turned her eyes to his. _**

_"**I remember that day in the forest, during the war," he started. He was no longer looking at her. He was looking at the opposite wall, but he knew that her gaze was upon him, because it was boring a hole into his soul. "I found you, alone, because Potter and Weasley had left you to look for one of the Horcruxes. I did not expect to come upon you, but I did. You were shocked to see me as well." He finally looked down at her and said, "Do you remember?"**_

**_Finally, after days of quiet agony, days in which he wished for her to open her eyes and speak to him, she did. She said in a voice that was so soft it came out as a whisper, "I do not wish to remember anything regarding you."_**

**_He placed one hand to the left side of her head, and rested it on her pillow. He leaned down closely to her face and whispered back, "And I do not wish to remember how much you have come to hate me, but I think it is time we both remember a few things, and at the moment, you are not at liberty to leave, so you shall hear me out."_**

* * *

**Chapter 7: 30, June 1812, A Few Days Later, In a Gallery at an English Estate:**

"Positively scandalous," Fleur announced, as they spied a painting in the gallery of a Muggle estate that they were visiting. "The woman is splayed opened, almost garishly so, and there is nothing covering her at all!"

"Too bad it does not move, as Wizard portraits do," her brother-in-law, George said with a nudge to his fiancée, Katie Bell. Hermione looked over at George with a slight smile, he winked at her, then he placed his fiancée's hand in the crook of his arm, and they walked away.

Hermione did not think that painting was scandalous. She thought it was marvelous. It was a masterpiece. They had all come to this great estate for a tour, which included this massive gallery. There were statues, busts, and portraits, as well as many landscapes. She perused slowly through the large gallery, and stopped to look at one of the landscapes. Landscapes were her favourites. When she was small, she would make up stories regarding the landscapes that littered the halls of her family's estate. Sometimes she would imagine herself inside the paintings, hiding behind a tree, lying on a hill, or in a valley full of lilies. She would make up stories in her head. She heard a distant laugh, and turned her head in time to see George and Katie leaving the gallery. Now, she was completely alone, as she wished to be.

This large manor was a Muggle estate, but many witches and wizards toured the grounds here, because the son of the current resident, the Earl of Westlake, was a classmate of Hermione's from Hogwarts. Justin Finch-Fletchly, also known in the Muggle word as Viscount Cornwell. His father often opened his home to tours for members of the Wizarding world, and on this very day, there was to be an engagement luncheon and a garden party at this estate, along with a ball the night after that, for Justin and another former classmate of theirs, Heather North.

Thus, the entire Weasley's family had come to stay in North Cumberland, in order to attend the ball. They were staying at a local Inn, 'The Boar's Inn,' along with Harry and several other former classmates. Most of the Weasleys were nervous at the thought of attending a ball that would have as many Muggles in attendance as Wizards. Hermione was delighted to attend, because her father and stepmother were to make an appearance, and she had not seen them since she had left for London.

Hermione continued to walk along the large, white-walled gallery by herself, her shoes tapping upon the marble floors the only sound echoing in the large room. Her bonnet was off her head, since she was indoors, and was swinging from its tied ribbons, which hung around her arm. She stopped by another huge landscape. This one depicted a field of purple flowers, with purple mountains in the background, and a purple sunrise as the backdrop.

She cocked her head to one side and took a few steps backward. She felt lost in the massive painting. She tried to imagine herself a child once more, and she wondered where she would hide in such a painting. Perhaps she would be a wood nymph, and would hide among the trees. On the other hand, she could be a fairy, hide in the flowers, or a mermaid, and bathe in the waterfall.

She was so deep in thought that she had not heard anyone approach. She was brought out of her daydream when she heard a man behind her say, "Too much purple for me."

She turned around, shocked, her hand over her heart. She ends of the ribbons of her bonnet became untied and dropped to the floor when she turned. "Lord Malfoy?" she said as a greeting. "Are you here for the wedding of Justin and Heather?"

"I am not here for the artwork," he said dryly. He bent down for her hat, and instead of handing her bonnet back to her, he tied the ends of the ribbons together once more, and then slipped it over his arm. He offered his other arm to her, and she placed her hand upon it.

"This is a wonderful art gallery," Hermione said as they strolled along. She felt self-aware, and slightly bothered by the intimacy of her hand on his arm, but he had offered, and to refuse would have been rude, would it not?

They stopped to exam a large bust of a very ugly man. Draco expelled a slight laugh, which prompted Hermione to say, "I hope this is not life like."

He gave her a quizzical look, and then he smiled. He said, "As much as I wish to hope the same hope, I believe it must be. I see a family resemblance to the Viscount."

She tried to hide her grin, but then she smiled and said, "The nose. Justin has the exact same nose. It must be a distant relative."

Draco dropped her hand from his arm and he walked over to a portrait. He leaned forward to examine it closer, his hand on the gold, gilded frame. He drummed his fingers on the frame and said, "Well, this is an ugly painting as well."

She stood beside him. He was extremely aware that their arms were touching. She cocked her head once more and said, "I do not agree this time. It is a wonderful painting. See the little cottage in the distance. I imagine that a little girl lives there, and she's all alone, but happy."

"Really?" He looked at her and raised one eyebrow. "And what of those strange looking things to the right of the cottage? You must admit those strange things are ugly."

"I believe those are called trees, Lord Malfoy," she said condescendingly. "Perhaps the little girl has a friend hiding behind one of those trees, and he is waiting to come to her door, to ask her to play, but he has to wait until the evil stepmother leaves for her garden party."

Now he laughed and said, "You get all of that from a painting? It sounds like a fairytale to me, not a description of a work of art. You must like fairytales." He purposely brought up 'fairytales' and he was not sure why. No, he was sure why. He wanted her to know he was the highwayman, although as much as he wanted her to know, he also did not want her to know. "Yes, that is quite a little story."

"It is just an assumption, not a story," she said with a shrug.

"Ah, yes, you are good at both," he said cryptically. She turned to look at him with a frown. He clarified by adding, "I only mean that you are quick to make assumptions, ones which are certainly closer to fables than the truth."

"Well, isn't this tête-à-tête pleasant?" she said sarcastically.

He turned to walk backwards as she continued forward and he said, "Do not misunderstand me, my lady. I enjoyed your story. However, your assumptions I could always do without."

"I have decided to ignore you now, so feel free to leave," she said with a wave of her hand. She was not about to get into an argument with the man over something that was in the past.

They came upon another massive painting, of a yellow and gold hued pasture, and Hermione stopped. He stopped behind her. She cocked her head to the side, which was the norm. He had been watching her from afar earlier, and had noticed that she had done the same thing with the other pictures. He stood extremely close to her back. He looked down, and noticed the way her curls piled loosely on her head, and the way several curls had escaped, and hung around her long, exposed neck. One long strand had come loose on the side, and was hanging slightly on her shoulder. This loose curl mesmerized him. He wanted to reach out and touch it. He wanted to twirl it around his finger.

She had on a white muslin gown, and a lace shawl, which draped low and hung in the bends of her arms. She pointed to something in the painting, and started to ramble on about the colours and the hues, but he was deaf, or else, his hearing was overpowered by his sight, because he thought she was the prettiest thing in the entire gallery, and he was about to tell her so, when he held his tongue. Instead, he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her. She smelled like heaven.

She could feel his breath on her neck. She closed her eyes, and she could smell a mixture of cologne and something else. He was standing intimately close. She wanted to turn around and place her hands upon his chest. She wanted to gaze into his eyes. She wanted him to smile down upon her. She wondered what he wanted. She wondered what she should say or do. She wondered why feelings that she long thought were repressed were once again resurfacing. Lastly, she wondered why he was here, in the gallery, right now, with her. She felt her shawl fall out of the crook of her right arm. She turned her head back to look at it, but he was already bending down to collect it.

He placed it back up on her arm. His fingers skimmed her bare skin as he placed it securely in the bend of her elbow. She turned and regarded him. He still had her bonnet on his other arm. To her surprise, he reached up for that stray curl and he brushed it away from her shoulder. She inhaled sharply at the familiarity and intimacy of it all.

She scarcely knew what to say, so she said, "I can take my bonnet back now."

He began to swing it in his hand, back and forth. "Oh, it is not too tiresome for me to carry. Of course, I may charge you a toll for the burden."

She rolled her eyes. "In deed?" she asked.

"Yes, I demand payment for being your pack mule, perhaps one apology would do," he said playfully. "I believe you apologized to me at the assembly the other night, but then you rescinded it, unfairly so, I might add. You perhaps were saving it for another time. Another time has come, and I would like to collect my due."

"Ah, yes, an apology," she said carefully. "As you said, I apologized to you the other night, and then I rightfully rescinded it, and seeing that the time to apologize has come and gone, I see no real reason to reconsider it, or reissue it." She gave him a reproachful look, stepped away from him and turned back to observe a statue of a woman, in a Grecian gown, resting upon a dais. She reached out to touch the cool marble. The intricate fall of the woman's gown seemed so lifelike; Hermione had to touch it to be sure it was not real.

"I should have known that you would reconsider reissuing your apology. You often reconsider feelings do you not?"

At his blatant statement against her moral fiber, she stared directly at him and finally said, "To prove to you that I am a woman of character, I shall offer the apology that I took away at the assembly. I wanted to apologize as to how we ended things two years ago. I was unkind to you, and perhaps I rushed to judge you unfairly." She kept her hand upon the statue, and walked around to the other side. They were now separated from each other by the expanse of marble.

He looked at her with a shielded expression and said, "And what do I owe this sudden change in temperament. If I recall, the last we officially spoke, the assembly the other night not included, you called me a coward. You thought I betrayed you and your friends to my aunt and to the Dark Lord during the war. What, pray tell, has made you change your opinion, I would very much like to know. What made you want to apologize in the first place?"

He suddenly seemed quite angry, even though she felt as if she was the one who should have been indignant, given that he had been goading her since he had appeared in the gallery.

She did not wish to tell him that overheard gossip in a lady's retiring room was the cause of her sudden change in heart, because she was not completely certain that was the cause. She thought it might have more to do with the fact that her mind and heart had recently been preoccupied with thoughts of him, which was a direct result as to her current feelings for yet another man, her highwayman. It did not make sense to Hermione, so she could not explain it to him. It was many things pieced together.

When she did not answer, he said, "I recall begging you to believe me two years prior, and you said that you would never believe anything I ever had to say."

"And I recall, you did not so much beg for me to reconsider my feelings, as much as you asked for my forgiveness, which at the time, made me believe in your guilt, Sir," she said, with a haughty air.

He gave her a false laugh and said, "We seem to recall events differently."

"Whichever is the case," she started, "I now wish to take back my apology, once more. I have suddenly decided that it is you who should apologize to me!"

He threw his head back and laughed. He stormed over to the other side of the statue and when he was close to her, he looked down and said, "And why would I ever deem it necessary to apologize to you?"

"For the unkind things you said about me to your friends at the assembly!" she reminded him.

"You mean the true things I said to them? The things you overheard, because you were eavesdropping. Those things? I shall never apologize for the truth, Hermione."

"No!' she said, rushing to him. She pointed her finger in his face. "Do not think you have the right to use my name in the same sentence that you say such callous and cruel things! You have always thought you were above everyone else, and you still do! I apologized to you, out of the goodness of my heart, and this is how you accept the apology?"

"Do you mean the apology in which you just recanted, twice now? That apology? In addition, who said that I accepted your humble apology, Madam? For I assure you, I do not." He turned to leave the long gallery.

The man infuriated her! Why was he suddenly so angry? She apologized for a past indiscretion, and for wrong assumptions, and he was still angry with her, because she had not believed him in the beginning! She told him that she believed him now, so why was that not good enough for him?

The sounds of his boots clicking against the floor irked her for some reason, so she called out, "I do take back my apology, and my original supposition is now once again committed to my mind! You are a coward! You cannot even accept an apology or admit when you yourself should offer one! You are a horrible, horrible man! I should teach you some manners!"

He turned around and stormed back to her. She was afraid and she rushed around to the other side of the statue once more. He pointed at her from across the statue and said, "You, Madam, are the last woman on earth whom I would ever need to teach me a damn, bloody thing!"

She shook, in anger, not in fear. Why had his anger escalated so quickly, and why was it he above all others could bring out the worst in her? He slowly rounded the statue, toward her, and she found herself backing into the wall. She stood under the massive, purple hued landscape. He was breathing hard, through his nose, his mouth a tight line.

She looked up at him, defiant. He closed his eyes slowly, deliberately, and lifted one hand, to which she turned her head and closed her eyes. He opened his, and was appalled. "Did you think I would strike you, Madam? You do think lowly of me. I would never strike a woman, especially you!" She turned her face back to his. He was breathing hard again. How could she fear him? How could he cause her to do so?

He tried to control his emotions, and he stated, "Your apology is a lie and a sham. You apologized for yourself, to ease your conscience, not because you believe in the truth. You did not do it to relieve my burden, but your own."

She closed her eyes again, because tears burned the backs of them. She heard his steady breathing. She felt the exhaled air fan her face, for he was that close.

At last, she opened her eyes. He took the hand that was still up in the air, and placed it beside her head on the wall, which was his original intent. He took his other hand, and reached once more for that stray curl on her shoulder, which had escaped its perfect hairstyle earlier.

Moments passed, his eyes fixed upon hers, his hand lightly pulling upon the curl. He dropped the strand of hair, and finally spoke, his voice low, and he said, "Your apology has prompted me to remember that I did wish to apologize to you, but not out of guilt. Regardless of what you think, I never apologize out of guilt. If my words to my friends the other night hurt your feelings, then I am truly sorry. They were lies, Hermione, but they were lies born from hurt, caused by you. You need to take your share of the blame. Nonetheless, I am sorry." His hand went back to that curl, to clutch it tightly again.

"Are you sorry that you said them, or are you sorry that I overheard, or worse, are you sorry because that is how you really think of me, and for that you feel regret?" she asked boldly.

A half-hearted laugh escaped his mouth. "You are a cruel woman," he said, although his anger had abated to a lesser degree, and he had a slight smile. "You are cruel because you above all others have the ability to see through me, to see the truth, even when you refuse to admit the truth that is plainly in front of your face. My image has been carefully molded over the last few years, so that no one can ever see the real me, and yet, you see me so clearly, that it shatters my veneer into a million pieces. You are right on all three theories, my lady. As I said, you always had the uncanny ability to see right through me. That is something I cannot abide."

His anger, which previously was directed toward her, was now flowing out of his body, as he stared into her endless, questioning, golden, brown eyes.

He only now realized he still had that curl in his hand. He released it, albeit regretfully. His hands went back to the wall, one at each side of her head. He leaned forward. He closed his eyes one last time, and he took the deepest breath of all. "Why is it you can see through my mask, when no one else can? Why do you even try?" He removed his right hand from the wall, and slid his thumb along her jaw line, his other fingers fanning against her neck. He lowered his head so that his lips could touch the soft flesh to the side of her jaw, near her pulse point.

Her body fluttered and shook in front of him, in shock at his closeness and familiarity. He brought his mouth closer to hers, and inhaled her intoxicating scent, before he placed his mouth lightly upon hers. He had longed to kiss these lips again. He had dreamt of just such a thing, so many empty nights, and many endless days.

His free hand left the wall as well, to wind around her waist. She was barely standing on her own. He lifted his mouth, from what one would barely even call a kiss, for it was over almost before it started, and he said, "Forgive me for all my sins, Hermione. It is all I have ever wanted. Your true, unadulterated, forgiveness."

She shook her head and placed her hands upon his chest. She pushed away from him without an indication to his request, and she turned quickly and ran toward the doorway, so that she could escape the long gallery. He placed his forehead on the wall, next to the painting. He still had her bonnet hanging on his arm. He pushed away from the wall and he decided something. He gave her up too easily before, two years ago. He should have made her believe him. He would not make that mistake again. This time, he would not give up on her, and she would have no choice but to relent to his pursuit.

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_A/N: I don't think this story will be too awfully long. And for those who are wondering about how everything ties together, the next two chapters should make things a bit clearer._


	8. Chapter 8

All characters belong to JKR

**_22, April 1813, (Later, the same day):_**

_"**I do not wish to hear any platitudes from you, Lord Malfoy," she said.**_

**_His face was dangerously close to hers and he said, "Call me husband."_**

_"**Lord Malfoy," she repeated.**_

**_His hand grabbed hers, as it rested on the outside of the covers, and he brought it to his lips. Before he placed a kiss there, he said, "Husband." He kissed her fingertips._**

_"**Lord Malfoy," she said again, defiantly.**_

**_He smiled, ignored her again, and said, "And I shall intimately call you wife. My wife. You are my wife now, Hermione, and as much as you might wish it to be otherwise, I am your husband. I did not force you to marry me you know, Wife." _**

**_She shook her head slightly and said, "Please leave me."_**

_"**Hermione, I will tell you what I have wanted to tell you for so long, and then if you still wish for me to leave you alone, I shall." He was weary of fighting her. She kept her face toward the opened window. The sun streaked with shadows across her features. He sat next to her hip, and sheathed her one hand in both of his. "That day, during the war, when I found you in the forest, all alone, I was shocked. You were harmlessly gathering firewood. You were not even aware of the dangers nearby. There was a group of snatchers only a short distance away, and a group of Death Eaters was with them. I was with the latter. I was sent to scan the woods. I could hardly believe I found you so easily. I watched you for close to an hour. When I did not see either Weasley or Potter, I knew you were alone. I could not see your encampment, so I figured it was concealed, but you stayed out in the open. You gathered more wood, and then you went to a small stream for water."**_

**_She looked out the opened window and said, "And that was when you revealed yourself to me, and my entire life changed."_**

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**Chapter 8: 30, June 1812, Hours After the Gallery Incident, at a Garden Party:**

Hermione sat alone on a bench in the middle of a grove of blossoming trees, with a glass plate resting on her knee. She was picking at her food. She heard footsteps behind her and prayed it was not Draco. "Hello, Lass."

She turned her head. It was Oliver Wood. "Mr. Wood?" she greeted.

"Now tell me why the prettiest flower in this whole grand garden is sitting alone, amongst a grove of trees, looking so sad and downtrodden," he expressed with a smile.

"Thank you for the compliment, and to answer your question, I prefer my own company," she said quietly.

"But people do not come to these things to be alone," he remarked. "They come to be seen, and heard. You took great care to pick out a pretty dress, trimmed in ivory ribbons, the same ribbons in your hair, which looks very fetching today, so you must want to be seen. Likewise, you are one of the best conversationalists I have ever had the pleasure to meet, so you must want to be heard," he concluded. "No, you are alone out here for another reason. Shall I try to discover that reason?"

She shook her head slowly, and looked down at her lap.

"Did some rake offend you?" he asked.

Before she could answer, Draco approached and raised his hand and said, "That would be an affirmative. The evil rake was me it shames me to say. I offended the lady."

Oliver laughed and said, "As you frequently do, Malfoy."

Hermione placed her plate on the bench and said, "Excuse me, gentlemen." She started walking toward a path that led to the woods, leaving the two men behind.

Oliver raised his brows and said, "What are you going to do about that, Malfoy?"

Draco raised his own brows, and followed her.

There was something about large and boisterous crowds, which drew Hermione to the opposite direction. The garden party was grand, and everyone who was anyone in both the Muggle world and the Magical World attended, though one side was not aware of the difference of the other. The garden was laden with beautiful flowers of every hue, and it was a magnificent and astounding view, but still, something about the crowded event drew Hermione farther and farther away from the mob. She preferred the natural beauty of the outdoors. She preferred to be alone. She preferred time to think and reflect.

She found what appeared to be an abandoned glade near a small stream, and surrounding this glade was a canopy of tall trees, which helped to fight off the heat of the noonday sun. She sat down in the middle of the grass, and was grateful for the chance to be unsocial. In a bit of daring, she lay back on the ground, and looked up at the leafy canopy, making out small patches of sun, which wove through the limbs and leaves.

She heard another rustling in the woods and she knew in her heart that this time it was he. Why did he have to continue to confuse her? She turned her head, already discovered. He was handsome. He had on an elegant long green coat and ivory pantaloons, and shiny brown boots up to his knees. She recalled that time she saw him in the forest, during the war, under different circumstances, and how afraid she was of him that day. She no longer felt fear.

Seeing Malfoy again made her feel remorse for what might have been, and what would never be again. It made her feel a kindling of something else, something different, something she could not understand or comprehend. Was it love? Could it be? Was she capable of love, and was he capable of returning it? She might never know the answers to any of those questions.

Her bonnet was still in his hand. He said, "No young lady should be out without her hat, and indeed, lying upon the cold ground."

"Please go away," she said. Her hand came over her eyes to block a nasty piece of sun that decided to break free from the shade of the canopy. He dropped down to his knees beside her. He handed her bonnet to her.

She stayed on the ground and said once more, "Please, just go."

He wanted to say so much. He wanted to do so much. He reached over, as she lay on her back, and he stroked the fringe of hair near her forehead. She closed her eyes for a moment. He had so much he needed to tell her, but instead, he stood up and said, "I merely wanted to return your hat." He brushed off his pants. "I apologize for earlier. I honestly do. You may not find it in your heart to forgive me at this moment, but someday you shall. I shall make you forgive me, if it takes a lifetime." In his mind he thought, 'I shall make you love me, if it takes a lifetime.'

She got up on her elbows and said, "Once again, if you are guiltless, there is nothing to forgive."

He meant the deception of being the masked man. He smiled and said, "Of course. Then I too shall recant my apology, until later that is, when you are more receptive." He walked off.

She found this small glade in the forest, by a fallen tree, a comfort and a haven. She got up from the ground and she went over to the fallen tree and sat down. This pretty, little spot truly did reminded her of the area in the woods when she first met Malfoy again, during the hunt for Horcruxes. She wished she had not met him that day. She wished she had not met him again. She bowed her head, in almost a prayer, and in silent contemplation, she closed her eyes.

_Two years prior, near the end of the war:_

_Hermione was alone at the encampment, collecting firewood, when she thought she heard a sound in the forest. She dropped the kindling, raised her wand, and looked through the trees, though she saw nothing. She took a ragged breath and wished that Harry and Ron would soon return. It was not so much that she was afraid for herself, but she worried for them when they were gone. They were searching for clues to find another Horcrux. It was important that they found them all, so they could win the war against the Dark Lord._

_Hermione picked up her kindling and started back to their tent, which was cloaked with a concealment charm. She also has numerous wards set up around their encampment, but she knew that she had traveled slightly beyond her wards, and she had to get back quickly._

_She heard another noise. She turned around, scanned the woods again, but still she saw nothing. She left the kindling on the ground and went back to sit beside the water. Soon, she was on her back, staring up at the barren trees, empty of leaves in the dead of winter. She closed her eyes, and said a silent prayer, and then she definitely heard another sound. She tried to stand, but faltered. Behind her was a person she had not seen since school. She had not seen him since the death of their Headmaster, almost a year prior. Draco Malfoy._

_She drew out her wand, but he was quicker. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She heard the sound of a broken twig on the path beyond the glade. She turned her head, and felt her stomach drop. She looked at the man who approached fully in the eye. Then she looked all around, to make sure they were alone. It was her highwayman. She remained on the fallen tree, not certain as to what she should do.

Moreover, she had been crying, and was not even aware.

He handed her a handkerchief. She took it and dabbed at her eyes. "You should not be here. There are perhaps one hundred people about the estate just beyond these woods. You will be discovered," she warned.

"And you do not want that to happen?" he asked softly. "I am touched." He walked closer, and reached out a bare hand to her cheek. "Why the tears?"

"It is nothing." She tried to hand him his handkerchief, but he shook his head no. She put it in her reticule. She would keep it as a memento.

"I came to meet you, hoping you would be here, and hoping to find you happy and well, and yet I find you alone, crying, and sad. That will not do, my lady." He pointed toward the small stream. He took her elbow, helped her to stand, and then with his hand still on her arm to guide her way, he steered her to the stream, where they both sat down, next to one another, on the embankment.

"Now, tell me, why are you sad?" he implored.

"Someone whom I once cared about, is working very hard to make sure that I dislike him, I'm afraid," she said. "Furthermore, I am equally fearful that he is succeeding, and I fear that he no longer cares for me, in any case."

"I have a rival for your affections?" he asked lightly, though his heart was breaking. She still cared for him, but he was killing her affection with his anger, and that was never his intent.

She gave him a weak smile and said, "You have no rival, nor are you a contender."

"Oh," he said, clutching his hands to his heart. "Your words wound me." He rubbed his hand over his mask and said, "But is this not all very tedious, all this discussion of broken affections? I am here for secret number three, unless your confession of having a secret love is your confession."

"I have no secret love, so I have no secret confession," she said solemnly. Her real secret was that she hated the way her heartbeat quickened when this man was close to her, especially since she was contemplating her feelings for Lord Malfoy. How could she possibly sit here and entertain thoughts about this highwayman, when only moments before, she was engaging the same thoughts about Malfoy. She was beyond confused. One thing was certain; this man was a tad bit nicer than Malfoy.

She turned her head and sighed. "Have I done something to offend you?" he asked.

She laughed and said, "You stole from me, and burned my brother-in-law's carriage. You stole a very valuable book from my friend," she stood and pointed toward him, "and do not try to pretend that you did not. You stole from Harry Potter, which means that you lied, too."

He stood and said, "Lied?"

"You claimed you were not at Grimmauld Place to steal, yet you did," she concluded.

He smiled and said, "Ah, so your prickly demeanor is hurt pride. I told you I was merely there for your affection, and when it turned out I was there for additional reasons, your pride was hurt. I see how it is. Well, today, we are in the forest, and there are only rocks, leaves and trees to pilfer, so perhaps I am only here for you today."

"There is a vast estate down below, and I am sure you are not above stealing something of value from there," she accused. "I have my wand, and I will send for help if you do not leave now." She pulled her wand from her skirt, although her words lacked conviction.

Draco reached down, took her wrist, and said, "Do not make false claims and do not take out your anger at someone else on me. It is not becoming of a lady."

"What would a rake know about genteel manners and what is becoming of a lady?" she spat. She removed her wrist from his hand, stood up, and started backwards. He advanced toward her and she raised her hand.

"Go on, strike me," he said steadily. "Show me your propriety and manners. Show me how much better you are than I am. Yes, I fear your anger is toward someone else, yet you direct it at me."

She lowered her hand, his words cutting her acutely. She felt that Malfoy's anger was misdirected as well, unjustly so, and now the highwayman was accusing her of the same thing. She said, "Just leave me alone. I wish for everyone to leave me alone."

She leaned against a tree and hung her head. He walked behind her and said, "I would accept your anger, if I earned it. This time, I have not, have I?" He knew that he had, and he felt even guiltier for claiming that he had not. He placed his hand high above hers on the tree. "Another secret and you get closer to having your book returned to you."

She turned around, and his heart broke, because she once again had tears in her eyes, and he knew that it was his fault. She said, "You already guessed my secret this time. I was once in love, I never told him so, and then I accused him of something that he had not done, and now the harm between us is irreparable. That is my secret."

She placed both hands on his chest and said, "Now, you owe me a secret."

The intimacy between them, her hands on his chest, her face close to his, was almost more than he could bear. His only wish in the world was that he could tell her his biggest secret, but he could not. He reached for her hands, and twined her fingers around his. He said, "My secret is that I too have loved and lost, and I intend to do something about that."

He brought one of her hand to his mouth, and kissed it lightly. He said, "You are closer to having your book return, my dear heart." He let go of her hands, but gave them a squeeze first, and then he disapparated away. She sat back down on the fallen tree. She needed more time to think before she returned to the party.

After an hour of deep thought and meditation, Hermione decided to apparate back to the Inn. She would get a message that she left the garden party to her family later. She wanted to wait for her father and stepmother's arrival. She walked up the lane to the Inn, and she saw that Harry's curricle was beside the Weasley family's carriage, outside of the Inn. When had they all left the party?

Hermione walked slowly to the front of the Inn, when she first saw Gabby, standing outside. Hermione called out to the young girl, to ask her if she knew why everyone was suddenly here, when Bill ran outside the Inn, followed by Harry, and then Ron. Bill approached her first, took her hand, and said, "We have received the most dreadful news."

Fleur came to stand behind her, and placed her arm around her shoulders. She looked toward Gabby, and the young girl was crying. Without any words spoken, Hermione already knew what Bill was afraid to tell her. Her father was dead.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two weeks later, Hermione was back at Shell cottage. Her stepmother sent both of the young girls back before her, and told them they had to finish up the season, and she even refused to let Hermione bring mourning clothes back to London with her. She told Hermione that it was more important than ever that she continued with her life, and find a husband, so that her future would be secured.

Her father's title, and land, was entailed to Hermione's Muggle second cousin. Though her father provided well for his wife and offspring, the former Madam DeLacour, nay the Widowed Granger, was soon to move to the only home left to her, a townhouse in London, and given the choice to stay there, or at Shell Cottage, Hermione came back to Shell Cottage. Gabby was to stay with her mother.

She walked around the gardens of Shell Cottage on her first day back, and she felt as if she was an empty armor, devoid of emotions and feelings. She was never terribly close to her father, but she loved him, and he her, and he was a good man. She had no one now. No family. She was utterly, complete, dispassionately, alone. To be alone was her fondest wish but two weeks ago, and now she was. The irony stabbed her in the heart, and left its indelible mark.

There was a ball in two nights at the home of one of their former classmates, Susan Bones, and Fleur announced that both of her sisters, as she often called Hermione, were to come. She told Hermione that this time she would come to the mercantile to pick out ribbons for her hair. She would participate in picking out her gown. Before Hermione left the breakfast table, Fleur said, "You cannot stop living, Hermione, because your father is no longer living. He would not want that for you."

"With all due respect, Fleur," Hermione said, "you have no idea what my father wanted for me." She walked to the back garden, and when the carriage was ready to take them into town, for dress shopping, ribbon buying, and the like, Hermione simply refused to go.

So why was she walking around the mercantile with a piece of blue ribbon in her hand?

She came because Harry walked outside and beseeched her to come. He told her that if she did not come, he would grab her hand, and apparate her to Diagon Alley himself. Therefore, she came, but she was not happy.

She rounded the corner of the mercantile, and she bumped her shoulder into a man. She dropped the long piece of blue silk. The man bent down to pick it up, handed it to her, and as if she did not notice who it was, said, "Thank you," and she started to walk away.

"Miss Granger?" he said.

She turned back around. It was Lord Malfoy. She froze on the spot. He said, "Please, accept my humble apologies on the loss of your father, and for so much more. I am so sorry."

She hardly knew what to say, so she said nothing.

How could he make her see? How could he make her forgive him? How could he give her up, once again? Then as if he had an epiphany, he immediately knew what he had to do. He turned to leave the store, but before he left he said, "I promise that I shall see you very soon, Hermione."

She curtsied, nodded her head, and then she turned to leave the store, walking past him through the doorway. He watched her go, and he already mourned the loss of her. He immediately went to the home of her stepmother. He had a proposition for the woman.


	9. Chapter 9

**All characters belong to JKR**

**_22, April 1813 (Evening):_**

**_He continued to talk to her, not with her, since she did not participate. He reminisced about the first time they had met in the forest, during the war. He spoke of the other times they met, always in secret. When he got to the part of the story where Hermione and her friends were discovered, and captured by the snatchers and the werewolf Fenrir, she finally spoke._**

_"**Please, enough. You tell me a story of which I am painfully, painfully aware. I know the rest. We were captured, taken to the Manor, you father and aunt asked you for our identities, and at the time you said that you were not sure who we were."**_

**_He stood up, rushed to her and grabbed her shoulders. "Dear God, Hermione! Not at one time, not at one second, did I ever reveal who you were! My father had met you before, you know! He finally recognized you! I have told you that so many times, and I am so tired of saying it again, and again, and again!"_**

_"**Unhand me, you're hurting me," she said, tears forming in her eyes.**_

**_He had to remind himself that just a week ago she was close to death. She was still unwell. He let her go, and as she sunk back into the bedding, he leaned down, placed his face in the crook of her neck and said, "Why won't you believe me?"_**

_"**Oh, Draco, I do. I do." **_

* * *

**Chapter 9: 15, July 1812, Diagon Alley:**

Hermione rushed out of the store, away from Lord Malfoy, and began to meander through the throng of people, passing familiar shoppes and businesses. What had Malfoy meant when he had said that he would see her very soon? Did he mean at the ball? She was not sure she could face him so soon after losing her father. Her emotions were frayed, and strained, and another unpleasant encounter with him might do her in, although he was kind just a moment ago. He even offered her his condolences.

Still, she loathed the thought of going to another ball. She would see all the same people; dance the same dances, only this time, people would be privy to her pain. They would offer her their commiseration, just as Malfoy had, but most of them would not mean it. They would offer empty words and phrases, and she was not at all certain she could tolerate it. She longed for a more sedate form of entertainment, or perhaps some time alone. She was still mourning the death of her father, and no one seemed to care.

She walked aimlessly down the cobblestone lane before she realized that her surrounding no longer seemed familiar. The buildings and storefronts had a definitely more ominous feeling. She must have turned down Knockturn Alley, and was not even aware.

She was about to go back from whence she came, when a man came out of a dark doorway and blocked her way. "Hello, lovely. Did you make a wrong turn somewhere?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, I did," she answered steadily. She placed her reticule between her arm and her side, and she took her wand partially out of the deep pocket that was in the folds of her long skirt.

"I think I shall relieve you of your reticule, Miss, but you may keep your wand," he said with a sneer, revealing dirty, rotten teeth. He twirled his wand in his fingers, and glared at her with a cocky expression.

Hermione gave his a leer of her own and said, "I do not think that shall come to pass, sir. Now, let me walk by." She pulled her wand completely out of her pocket, and held it under his chin. If he thought she was a cowering female, who would faint at the sight of a robber, or would drop her wand in fear, instead of dueling him, he was sorely mistaken.

Another man came up behind her. She was all but certain she could have taken on the first man, but two would be difficult, especially as one was at her back. She could not see the man behind her, but she saw the tip of his wand, with her peripheral vision. She was about to turn around to disarm him, when he snaked his arm around her middle.

Then he spoke.

"Move along, you common ruffian, the lady is not inclined to fill your request today. Drop your wand, apologize, and we shall call a truce," the man behind her said.

The man in front of Hermione laughed. "A robber calling another man a robber? At least I do not fear showing my face. I rob without deceit. Drop your wand, instead, or the lady will die," the ugly man said. He pointed his wand right at Hermione's chest. She pointed hers at his chest. The man behind her continued to hold her up against him, but to her chagrin, he lowered his wand.

Then he laughed. "She will kill you, but there is no valid reason why you should know that simple fact. Go on and try to kill her. I'll move away, and let it be a fair fight, although it really shan't be fair, since she has you at an advantage." The highwayman removed his hand from around her waist, but he pulled on the back of her dress, so that she was farther from the first man.

Hermione backed up, letting the man guide her, her wand still pointed at the first man's chest. The highwayman stopped, and she stopped when she felt his hard body behind hers again. He placed a reassuring hand on her elbow.

Then Draco said, "Go on, Hermione. Show this man why it is that you were considered Harry Potter's right hand 'man' during the war."

The first man's eyes widened and he looked at Hermione, and then to the masked man. "Hermione Granger?" he asked.

Hermione raised one eyebrow.

"You can have her, Mister," the first man said. "She will be more trouble than she's worth, I'm sure."

Draco laughed and looked at Hermione and said, "You do seem to be a lot of trouble, he is correct in that assumption, however, I happen to know that you are worth every spot of trouble that you cause, Miss."

Hermione said, "Really, now?"

The other man backed down the alley as Hermione and Draco continued to talk, and then when he was far enough away, he turned and ran.

Hermione turned to her masked man and said, "I had everything under control."

"I know," he said. "I was just performing my civic duty. I did not wish to see the man dead. It is such a pretty day, after all."

She wanted to laugh. "Civic duty? What, to keep all criminals, such as yourself, safe and sound?" she asked amused. She walked over an empty storefront, and sat down on the deep ledge of the window front. He joined her.

"What are you doing in Knockturn Alley?" he asked.

"I was taking a midday stroll," she said in all sincerity.

"A stroll?" he questioned, "and what of your would be robber. He was about to accost you. You do get yourself in some messes, my lady."

"But again, I reiterate," she started, "I had everything perfectly under control. There was no need for you to come to my rescue."

He stood, took her hand, and placed it on his arm. He helped her to stand, and started deeper into the Alley. She was not afraid. She followed blindly. He said, "That is where we must beg to differ. I was not coming to your rescue. I was merely claiming what was mine. You were my victim first, and thus you shall remain, mine and mine alone."

She looked over at him and smiled. He patted her hand and said, "You have a beautiful smile. You should smile more often, you know." He could not let on that he knew of her recent losses, so he had to remain vague with his postulation.

"There has not been much to smile about lately," she said truthfully. "And I must tell you that I beg to differ with your statement. I am not yours, nor shall I ever be." She thought it was folly to say aloud, though she truly _did not_ feel that she was his, she did often think of him as 'her highwayman', but she would never reveal that secret to him.

As if on cue, he said, "Do you have secret number four at the ready?"

"Remember when I said there was something familiar about your eyes, the last time we met?" she asked.

He let go of her arm, smiled at her, leaned toward her and said, "Is this secret number four? Because as you stated, you have already revealed that fact to me."

"This is not my secret," she said, somewhat perturbed. "What I was trying to say was that the colour of your eyes seems different this time. I was sure that they were grey the last time, but now they are brown. Ordinary."

"You have brown eyes, and they are not at all ordinary," he informed her. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the top lightly. He had concealed the colour of his eyes with a simple charm, which would not last long. He could only hope it would last long enough until he left her again.

"Thank you," she uttered, "but seriously, I am certain they were grey."

"No, as you said, they are ordinary, brown eyes. Always have been," he said flippantly. He started to walk again. When she stayed rooted to her spot, ruminating what he had proclaimed, he took her hand again, tucked it back into the crook of his arm, and started pulling her with him once more.

"Are you certain?" she asked.

"Yes, my lady, as they are my eyes."

"But I thought, I mean, I know someone else with striking grey eyes, and I thought, and thought, about the last time we met, and I was certain that was what was familiar about you, your eyes, and the fact that they resembled his."

"Is this my rival you are speaking of again?" he asked playfully.

"No rival," she said.

"You mean I've won already, splendid." He smiled.

"I mean you were never in contention," she said as a lark. "And perhaps I have just been thinking too much lately of this man, and I thought your eyes were the same as his. I am sure that is it." She spoke more to herself, than to him.

He was glad that his subterfuge worked, at least this time. He was equally glad that she had been thinking about him. He knew he had spent the last two weeks thinking about her. He also knew that less than thirty minutes ago, he had gone to her stepmother's townhouse, had secured an interview with the woman, and had guaranteed a promise from her. He presented the woman with a very interesting and important proposition, and she accepted. He was deep in thought, and had not noticed that they had stopped walking, until she pulled on his sleeve and asked, "Where are we going?"

Before he could answer, he asked her a question. "Were you in love with this man with the striking grey eyes?"

She looked at odds as to how to answer. She said, "There was a gentleman, with whom I formed an acquaintance, after we had gone to school together all of our lives. Though it was turbulent times, and we were on opposite sides of the war, we formed a secret friendship, which at the time I had hoped would turn to more, but it did not."

She continued, "In school he was often haughty and arrogant, but I later found that he was easy to converse with, and often times when I speak with you, you remind me of him. Maybe that is what I meant when I said you and he were similar. Yes, I am sure that is it."

"He is the man you spoke of the last time we met?" he asked. "The one that is working hard to make you dislike him?" He was quoting what she had said to him the last time they spoke.

"Yes," she said. "Can that be my secret?"

"What, that I remind you of a man whom you once strongly liked, but now detest, goodness, I should hope not," he said. "Anyway, you're so forthright, I'm sure the man is aware of your fleeting feelings of hate for him, so that is hardly an adequate secret." He walked her across the street, and into a dilapidated old house. She followed without a care or a fear.

"I do not hate him," she stated firmly. He found that statement caused a ray of hope to shine in his heart. "But I am not sure that I ever loved him, and I certainly do not love him now." That statement burned and destroyed all hope in his heart. He was disappointed, but he was sure that she was proclaiming things that were not completely true. He knew that he had once held her affection, during the war, and he would hold it again. It may be locked away in her heart now, but he would break that lock, and steal it from her, just as he stole back his father's belongings.

He would. He could not face the future without her.

He sat down in a chair at a rickety table in the small one room house and removed his hat. He draped his cape on the back of the chair. She looked around the dirty little room and said, "Is this your house?"

He looked at her incredulously, and then he let out a loud, boisterous laugh. "Heavens, you are a riot. No, this is not my house. If it was, would you feel very sorry for me?"

She pulled out the chair on the other side of the table, dusted it off with her skirt, and sat down and said, "No, but I would say that you must be a terrible robber if you lived in such a derelict house. Of course, you probably burn everything you steal."

"Not everything," he said with a smile. "So, sweetling, may I please have secret four, and then I shall escort you out of this alley, and back to your friends."

She stood up suddenly and said, "Oh my, they must be so worried for me! My stepsisters, and my friends Harry and Ginny, must be looking everywhere for me! I have to go." She started to the door but he called her back.

"Secret, my dear. I must have my due, and then, and only then, shall you leave." To emphasis his intent, he locked the door with his wand, and then leaned back in the chair and placed his feet on the table, his wand beside them.

She sighed and came back to her seat; however, she took out her wand. "You were serious when you told that man that I could best him, were you not?"

"Oh, do put your wand away. I am not afraid of you," he said, though he knew that if she were serious, he would be slightly afraid. "If you do not want to share a secret that is fine. I will keep your book a while longer. Instead, tell me other qualities that I share with your man from the past. Admirable qualities, only, please."

She seemed really to think about it and then she said, "I cannot think of another thing."

He smiled and said, "I take it he was disarmingly handsome, correct?"

"Quite," she answered, "although since your face hides behind a mask, I cannot say whether you share that quality with him."

He lowered his feet to the ground, leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and said, "I assure you, I have been called handsome all my life."

"Your mother's praise does not count," she said lightly.

"You are so adroit," he said with a smile.

She coyly answered, "And you are not. Ask me if there are other similarities."

"Your wish is my command," he said steadily. He stood up and walked behind her. He leaned down; she turned her head to gaze up into his eyes. He said, "I assume he had a rapier wit, correct?"

"He was an intelligent sort, who occasionally made me smile," she answered. She turned back to look at the room. He peeled off one glove, and then the other and he threw them on the table. One hand went to her shoulder, his other held onto the back of her chair.

"Do I make you smile?" he asked. He leaned toward her, his breath tickling the back of her neck.

"Perhaps."

"Then on that, we are similar?" he asked. His lips deftly touched the side of her neck. She closed her eyes, and felt her will melting. What was happening here? What was he doing to her, and why was she allowing it? He was familiar, and similar to Malfoy, because Malfoy was the only other man who had ever made her feel this way.

He kissed her again, this time his lips went to her cheek. She stood up so suddenly that he almost fell backwards. She pointed her wand at him and said, "Here is my secret! He and I shared a secret relationship. He was a Death Eater. I fought on the light side! He was sometimes a liar and an arrogant man, but I might have loved him, and he might have loved me, if I had not accused him of something that I am now not at all certain that he did."

She looked as if she was on the verge of tears. She said, "But he never took advantage of me. He may not have always been kind, but he was not a rogue or a rake, and he did not take liberties as you just did. Who do you think I am, and who do you think you are?"

He approached her slowly, his hands in the air. When he was right in front of her, she lowered her wand. She placed one hand on his chest. She put her wand in her pocket with the other.

"Did he ever say he was sorry, and mean it with every fiber of his soul?" he asked softly.

"I believe he has," she answered. That admission from her stole his breath away. Did she finally believe him? The ray of hope that was squashed earlier had returned. "He was adamant with his claims that he was a double agent, and I did not believe him at the time, and when he said he was sorry, I thought he meant that he was sorry that he had betrayed me."

"Maybe he was just sorry that you were hurt. Maybe he was sorry that he had caused you pain, or worse, that perhaps he could not do more to help you. Just because a person says they are sorry, it is not an admission of guilt, my love."

"Please, do not call me that," she said. Both hands were now on his chest.

"I bet that is how we are similar," he said. He placed one hand on one of hers, the other on her back. He leaned forward, and kissed her, right beside her mouth. He said, "Yes, I bet we both love you. Do you think that might be a similarity?"

She looked shocked. She swallowed hard, pushed him away from her, and walked to the door. She said, "My friends must be worried. I have to go."

He went to get his gloves, hat, and cape, but when he turned, she had already opened the door, and was running back down the alley.

Draco went back into the small house, changed his appearance back to his own post haste, and then disapparated back to his townhouse. He had much to do before the ball, which was only days away. He had an important joint announcement to make with Madame Granger, formerly DeLacour, and he had to make sure everything was perfect for that special announcement. He wondered what Hermione would think of him after she heard his announcement. Perhaps he should warn her beforehand, after all, he really did not doubt her abilities with a wand. Yes, he would seek her out tomorrow, and inform her of his announcement in private, first. He had best make sure she was unarmed when he told her the news that in four week's time they were to be husband and wife, and that her stepmother had just signed the marriage contract, and he had already petitioned the Ministry for the license.


	10. Chapter 10

**all characters belong to JKR**

**_22, April 1813. The same Evening, a bit later:_**

**_She claimed that she believed him. She claimed that she no longer believed that he betrayed her during the war. Why was she still so resistant to him, if that was the truth? "If you believe me, then why do you act as if you still hate me?"_**

_"**Because you lied, and when we married, you promised that you would never lie to me."**_

_"**I have not lied, my wife!" he proclaimed. Hermione tried to sit up, but Draco pushed her back down. "Do not try to move. You are still weak."**_

_"**I do not want to talk of the past. It serves no purpose," she said, still struggling to sit, although it was futile. **_

**_He sighed, pushed on her shoulder and said, "I shall not upset you anymore tonight. I have done that enough in our lives. I will not press you for explanations. Nonetheless, I wish to remind you that I have never lied to you since we have been married. I love you, Hermione. I do, and I have loved you since the war. What can I do to convince you of that, and to make you see that you love me back?"_**

**_She began to cry. He hated upsetting her. He said, "If you do not wish to recall how we fell in love that is fine."_**

_"**I did not fall in love with you during the war!" she denied.**_

_"**You may not love me now, but I know that you did at one time," he alleged. "I am not a stupid man."**_

**_She turned her head back toward the wall. "That is debatable."_**

**_He laughed and said, "I am so pleased you are feeling better and are up to exchanging cutting remarks again, my love, my wife." _**

**_She turned back toward him. He stood to go and when he reached the doorway, he turned back and said, "Rest now. We have all the time in the world to talk. Perhaps tomorrow you might like to get out of bed." _**

**_He walked out of the room and once in the hallway he heard her say, "I did not fall in love with you during the war. I did not." He leaned against the door, and hung his head. He did not know how much more of her denial he could abide. If it was not denial, but the truth, than he had never been a bigger fool. He was about to walk away when she said, "I started to fall in love with you during the war, and I might have, but I fell in love with you the night you stole my book. However, that was all a lie. I have been such a fool."_**

**_He sprang back into the room, surprising her, and he said, "No, you are not a fool." How did she know that he was the highwayman?_**

_"**Yes, I was a fool, because that was not the real you," she argued.**_

* * *

**Chapter 10: 16, July 1812, Meeting at her Stepmother's House:**

Bill told Hermione that she was summoned to her stepmother's house very early the next morning. He said that Mrs. Granger asked that her son-in-law and her eldest daughter accompany her. She dressed quickly, and since the townhouse was in Muggle London, they took his brother's carriage there. When they walked into the woman's townhouse, they were surprised to see Harry Potter and Ron Weasley already there, sitting in the parlor.

Hermione walked into the parlor, and Harry and Ron stood. Harry walked over and kissed Hermione's cheek. She said, "What a pleasure it is to see you this morning, Harry." She walked over to Ron and kissed his cheek, and held his hand and added, "And Ron."

"Why are we here, though, that is what I'd like to know," Harry said back. Fleur and Bill were shown into another room by the butler. When Hermione realized they were not behind her, she merely looked at Harry and shrugged.

The three friends began to speak, when only a short time later Gabby ran into the room and said, "Is it not all so utterly romantic?"

Hermione frowned at the younger girl and said, "What?"

"Oh, Hermione, you mean Mama has not yet spoken with you?" Gabby asked, shocked.

Suddenly, Bill stormed out of the library, his wife's hand in his and he shouted, "Never! Not as long as I live!"

The three friends looked at each other confused, as they all rushed to the foyer. "Come Hermione!" Bill said, holding out his free hand to her.

"It is done, Bill," Mrs. Granger said. "The contracts are signed, and the special license has already been granted. He has offered a grand allowance, and I have granted him access to her dowry."

"I am her oldest male relative now!" Bill shouted.

"Not according to the Ministry. According to them she without a male relative, therefore, I shall make such decisions. She does not even come into her majority until she is 21 years old, which is still months away, so as acting guardian, I made the choice," Mrs. Granger retorted. "Be sensible, Bill. It is a most fortunate match! She shall never want for anything, and he is a pureblood!"

Suddenly, Hermione felt faint.

Harry rushed to Mrs. Granger and said, "To what are you referring?"

Fleur let go of her husband's hand, took her younger sister's hand instead, and said, "Come with me, Gabby." Then she looked at her mother and said, "You should have consulted Bill on this matter, Mama. It is a horrible, horrible thing you have done. I am shocked!" The sisters left the foyer for the upstairs.

"Please," Hermione started, "someone explain to me what is happening."

"This is not as it should have been," her stepmother said. "I only sent for Bill and Fleur this morning. I had no clue they were to bring you, Hermione. My missive asked that they arrange for you to come thirty minutes later. I sent for your friends as soon as I heard from Fleur that Bill was bringing you along now."

"Why are we all here?" Ron begged.

Bill almost growled and said, "My esteem mother-in-law sent me an Owl this morning claiming that she signed a betrothal contract for Hermione to marry, although she omitted the other party, on purpose, I am sure." Hermione gasped. Bill looked at her and said, "I promise, she never told me with whom, and she did say that she would like to see me and Fleur alone, to tell us first, but I sent her back an Owl telling her that I was to bring you, since it concerned you."

Hermione continued to step backwards. Her hand was over her heart. She said, "To whom am I betrothed?"

She stopped when she felt the warmth of a body behind her. By the expression on her friends' faces, she already knew who it was before he spoke. He said, "To me, my lady."

Hermione felt as if someone had taken all the wind out of her sails. No, this could not be happening. What had this woman done to her? She turned slowly, as if in a dream, and looked up at the face of Draco Malfoy. She slowly swallowed, blinked her eyes, clenched her fists, and said one thing. "No."

Then she ran out of the house. To her relief, no one followed.

An hour later, she was sitting in a Muggle park, watching fancy carriages, curricles and horse riders go by, in what only could be described as a promenade. Everyone was on display for the pleasure of others. Men wore fancy coats and hats, shiny boots, and silk waistcoats of every colour. They rode in fine open curricles, with shiny horses pulling them, or on top of fancy steeds, tipping their hats to all the ladies, Hermione included.

Women walked in groups, with parasols, and fancy bonnets, some with ornate ribbons, some with ostrich feathers dyed blue and green, smiling demurely at the men, but all the while meaning, "I am available."

The whole display made her sick to her stomach.

At least it helped her temporarily to forget the fact that she was in a predicament, and she was not sure how she was to get out of it. She stood from the bench, and started walking. She walked toward a little stone bridge, and looked down into the water. The memories of her first meeting with him during the war rushed back to her.

That day, she was gathering firewood. Harry and Ron had been gone for days, when they had said they would be gone less than one day, and she was worried, and therefore, somewhat careless, and reckless. She should never have left the confined safety of the tent, but it was the dead of winter, and she was frightfully cold. She desperately needed firewood and water, so she ventured out.

That was when he found her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Draco had been watching her for over an hour before he finally decided to let his presence known. She was being irresponsible, appearing out in the open like this. First, she gathered firewood, and then she gathered water. Now, she was by the river, merely staring into the water, while her water and kindling stayed by the wayside. Did she not know of the dangers out there?_

_He knew if he allowed her to see him, she would be afraid. The last time he had seen her, almost a year prior; he had tried to kill their headmaster. She would have no clue that he was working for the Order of the Phoenix now. The only two people who knew were Snape and Lupin, who was the current leader of the Order. It was too risky to let others know. If the Death Eaters, or Draco's family, found out that he was providing intelligence to the light side, he would surely meet with an early demise._

_Where were Potter and Weasley? They must be hunting for Horcruxes. Not many people knew that was their task, but Draco knew. She continued to sit next to the riverbank, and soon, she was on her back, staring up at the sky, and the canopy of barren tree limbs. It was frightfully cold. Why was she on her back on the cold ground? Was she ill?_

_Hermione lay back, and stared up at the grey, cold, winter sky, and wondered when Harry and Ron were to return. They had been gone for days. They had promised that they would be gone no longer than 24 hours. She was not sure what she should do. Should she wait for them? Should she be looking for them? Should she do nothing at all, but remain by the riverbank, and let the cold winter wind blow her into oblivion?_

_She was weary. She was alone, and cold, and afraid. She knew it was risky to be out in the open, but it was better than being inside that small tent, on her own, even for one moment longer._

_She heard a twig break in the forest. That in and of itself would not be odd, since many animals lived in the forest, but she knew this sound was different. She stayed on her back, but reached in her coat for her wand._

_She heard rustling of the undergrowth, and she hurried to try to get to her feet, but only made it to her knees when she found a wand pointing at her. "Why are you alone and lying on the ground, Granger?"_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Why are you all alone? May I join you, Hermione?" a voice behind her asked. She nodded. Draco sat down beside her. She turned slightly, so that she did not have to look at him. "Lovely day is it not?" he asked.

"Very." She sounded less than convinced.

"I am sorry for the way you found out my intentions, Hermione," he said.

She turned to him and said, "How was I to find out?"

"I wanted to ask you myself. That was the plan. I should have known that nothing ever turns out correctly when you are involved." He gave her a slight smile, and a slight laugh, though neither of them found the situation remotely funny.

She turned away again.

"So you were to ask for my hand, or were you to tell me that marriage between us was already decided?" she asked, as she turned back to look at him.

He reached for her hand, and to his surprise, she allowed him to take it. "Would marriage to me be so bad, Hermione?"

"Why would you want to marry me, my Lord?" she asked, withdrawing her hand.

"Why not?" he countered with a grin.

"We are not in love," she said.

"AH, love and affection, are they so terribly important when it comes to a successful marriage?" he asked.

She clenched her fists, which made him smile, and she said, "Of course they are!"

"Then you don't love me?" he asked, with a smirk. "My feelings are hurt."

"You do not love me, either!" she said.

He was tired of her suppositions and assumptions, and false claims, but to serve his purpose, he would not declare his love, not yet. Not until he was sure of her feelings for him, because the truth was, he really did not know if the feelings she once felt still existed, or if they died long ago. It did not matter, because if they were dead, he would resurrect them. He would earn her love anew. He had to, or else.

"You don't love me," she repeated.

"Perhaps not, perhaps I do, but I still stand by my statement," he began, "that love is not the most important ingredient to a successful union."

"Affection is important! Friendship is important!" she snapped.

"You have affection for things like animals and food, my lady. You have Harry the hero and the Weasel for friends. I am offering you something more," he argued.

"You are pureblood," she pointed out.

He stood up, smiled, and said, "How nice of you to point that out, although I had not forgotten."

"Is this marriage proposal in retaliation for something I've done, or some miscarriage of justice that you feel was wronged against you by the Ministry? Is it to get past the restrictions, marry the first Mudblood that comes along?" she asked.

"You sound surprisingly like Potter, for he argued the same point but only moments ago," he snapped, walking around the bench. He ended up back in front of her. "Those were his words, almost verbatim. Believe me, I have found other ways to collect my due from the Ministry, and marrying a Mudblood is not one of them. Can you think of no other reason that I might want to marry you?"

She looked pained for a moment, and then joined him to stand. When she did not answer his question, he suggested, "Walk with me, Hermione."

It bothered her that he kept using her name with so much familiarity. It bothered her that he had not considered her feelings once. It bothered her that there was a time when she had once entertained marrying him, but that was a dream of long ago, which had also long ago shattered.

He offered his arm. She clasped her hands in front of her and began to walk toward a fountain. He clasped his hands together, and joined her.

"When is the wedding?" she asked sarcastically.

"That will be up to you and your stepmother, but soon I hope," he said.

"Really?" she said with derision, coming to a stop. "I get to make a decision regarding all of this?"

"Surprising, no?" he asked with the same amount of indignation as she asked her question.

"I suggest a long engagement," she said, seriously.

"So I might have time to persuade you?" he asked with a smile. "Court you, woo you, and bend you to my will?"

She laughed. He smiled. "There is time for that after marriage," he concluded.

"Surely you do not mean that," she said with genuine surprise, coming to another stop.

He took her arm, forcing her hands apart, and tucked one of her hands into his elbow, his other hand on top of it. "If you keep stopping it will take us all day for our stroll." He added, "And the special license was so that we might proceed quickly. I see no reason to wait."

She tried to stop again, but he would not allow it. He led her to the fountain, and he pointed to the ledge. She sat down, her back to the large fish statue with water spurting from its mouth.

She said, "Why rush it?"

"Why not?" he added. She looked at the ground. He reached out, touched her chin, and forced her eyes to his. She shook, not in fear, but with feelings long since denied. He said, "Please, know one thing. I will never force you to do anything you would not want to do, that is, after we are married." He smiled, because he had to add the words, 'after we are married,' or she would argue the point that marriage itself was being forced upon her.

He added, "Furthermore, I shall gain your trust again, your friendship, and your love. I shall never lie to you. I will try to be a husband who deserves you. I cannot force you to love me, but I hope that love will come in time. I will even wait for the marriage bed, but not long, but long enough until you are comfortable with the idea."

She blushed. He still had her chin. He rubbed his thumb on her chin, his fingers on her cheek. She was transported to last night, with the highwayman. He did almost the exact same thing to her cheek, and she felt almost the exact same thing. She did not know what to think of the two events, and why they felt so similar, when two different men enacted them.

She stood suddenly. She felt she was overwhelmed and suffocating. Her thoughts went once more to the highwayman, and back to Draco. Why had she not seen what had been plainly in front of her? She started to shake all over, and he seemed concerned.

"Hermione?" he asked. He reached for her.

She backed away. To cover for her anxiety and for what she felt was a discovery, she said, "Do I have any say at all, regarding anything?" She took two steps backwards. He stood up too, and turned to face her.

"We will announce our engagement to the members of the Wizarding 'ton' during the Bone's annual ball tomorrow night. I have already sought their approval to do so."

"Then I guess I don't have a say in anything," she said sardonically.

He held out his arm and said, "Allow me to walk you back?"

"I am not happy with this," she said, although she was not sure that was the complete truth. At least now, her feelings for a common robber could be explained.

"Will you allow me to call on you, before the ball, perhaps tomorrow, and then escort you there later?" he asked.

Hermione placed her hand tentatively on his arm and said, "You may, but this has not yet been decided, Malfoy. Not at all. I will never do anything that I do not want to do, understand?"

"Of course, do you think I want a wife who is a weak, milquetoast?" he asked.

She signed, stopped walking and patted his cheek, in which he raised an eyebrow, and she said, "The definition of milquetoast is a timid man, Lord Malfoy."

He cupped her cheek, as her hand lowered from his, and said, "And I stand by my statement. I would never want to be married to a timid man."

She stared at him in shock for a moment, and then she could not help but to smile, and then to even laugh. She closed her eyes, as his hand lingered on her cheek. When she opened them, and he was still smiling at her.

This might work, but first, she had to find out if her highwayman and Malfoy were one and the same. If they were not, she had to find out if she had any real feelings for the other man. It was the only fair thing to do. She could not marry one man, if she had lingering feelings for another, and if they were the same man, there would be no problem to solve at all. She was not sure how she would find him to send him a message, but she would.

They walked back to her stepmother's townhouse, and once outside the door, she said, "Would you consider waiting to make the announcement, just until I ask it of you?"

"Why wait?"

"I need to see a friend first. I need to ascertain his feelings on something, before I can commit myself to you. That is my only stipulation. Allow me a week, at the most." She was sure she would see her highwayman within the week.

He wondered if the friend she spoke of was the highwayman. Why would she need to seek his opinion? He knew why she wanted to wait. She wanted to see the highwayman again. She was falling in love with him. Draco would allow her to see 'him' one last time, and he would make it a meeting she would not forget, or forgive. Soon, her love would only be for him, as he really was, and not for the highwayman.

He bowed, took her hand, and said, "That would be amendable. That way, we can have our own engagement ball, which is something your stepmother suggested." He raised her hand to his lips, but at the last moment, he turned it around and placed a soft kiss on her wrist, instead of the top, which seemed so much more intimate, sensual, and compelling. He dropped her wrist and said, "We shall wait, but not long. We will get to know each other, and I am sure that we will find that we like what we see. I for one am tired of deceptions, and I am tired of wearing masks. I want you to know the real me. I think we might find our fairytale, happy ending, Hermione. You believe in fairytales, do you not?"

He walked away from the house, smiling.

She stood on the stoop, mouth agape. Fairytales. Masks. Deceptions. She suddenly felt as if her confusion was whisked away. Oh how easy it all would be, if Draco was her highwayman! Then she would not have to select one over the other. She walked into the door, smiling.


	11. Chapter 11

**All characters belong to JKR**

**_23, April 1813, The Next Morning, Very Early:_**

**_Draco did not sleep well. Her words rang through his head all night long. She fell in love after the war. With him. And she called him a liar, yet again. This could mean only one thing. She meant that she fell in love with the highwayman, and she knew that it was he, and that he had lied when she asked him it was so._**

**_He would not blame her if she never forgave him. He had broken yet another vow to her. He was forever disappointing her._**

**_He took a candle, opened the door to this chamber, and walked down the hall. A footman stood in the hallway and asked him if he needed anything._**

**_Draco told him no. He was going to go to his wife. Her room was down the hall. No, her room was next to his, but she moved out of that room the day before her accident, so it was to that room he took her the day she almost died._**

**_He walked down to this guestroom, and opened the door slowly, fully expecting her to be safely in her bed, but she was not. Apparently, she had been as restless as he had, for she was sitting in a comfortable chair by the fireplace. She was awake._**

**_She looked up as he approached. Before he could say a word, he stopped, and spied a book in her lap. It was the book of fairytales, which her mother had given to her. Draco had stolen it the first day she came back to London, and later told her that it was destroyed. He wondered how she had gotten it, since he had never returned it to her._**

* * *

**Chapter 11: 17, July 1812, The Next Day, Meeting in the Rain:**

The rest of the day after her stepmother's declaration was stressful. Harry told Hermione he would visit the Minister of Magic and have the license revoked. Ron went even farther, and said that he would challenge Malfoy to a Wizard's duel. Bill said he would take her back to France, war be damned, if she so wished.

She feigned a headache, so that she might retire to her room at Shell Cottage for the rest of the day, but not before telling them all thank you, but no thank you. She would do as she must, and what was expected of her. What she failed to tell all of them was that she had a plan of her own, and if it worked out, she would gladly marry Lord Malfoy soon.

That next morning, she sent an owl to her highwayman. She knew it was a long shot that the owl would find him, since Hermione could not put a proper name on the letter. She merely addressed it to 'the highwayman who stole my book,' and sent the owl on his way. She asked to meet the man at a gazebo, on the outlying acreage of Bill's estate. She did not give him a time, since she had no idea when, or if, the owl might find him.

She took several books, and a picnic basket, and told only Bill where she was going. She told him she needed time to think, and wanted to be alone. He smiled, held her hand for a moment, and said, "Just say the word, and you will be on your way to France."

She smiled, thanked him again, and turned to walk out the door.

Draco was at his townhouse, dressing for the day, when an owl pecked at the upstairs window of his dressing room. His valet went to open the window, and then turned to Draco and said, "Lord Malfoy, there is some mistake. This letter is not addressed to you."

"Then send the owl away," Draco said with a wave of his hand, as he looked over this many coats, to pick the perfect thing to wear to meet Hermione later.

The valet said, "Imagine, an owl delivering a letter to you, which is address to a highwayman. It must be someone's idea of a perverted joke."

Draco looked up and ran to the window. He told the man, "Give it to me!"

"But I thought you wanted me to send it away?" the man asked.

"I'll do it. Will you press my black robes for the ball tomorrow, and make sure my boots are shined?" Without waiting for a response, since it was really an order he presented to the man, and not a request, he waved the man out of the room, took the note, and read it.

He read it twice. Hermione wanted to meet with the highwayman. Why? He knew the only way to find out would be to go to her, and soon. He changed his hair quickly, grabbed his black cloak, tri-corn hat, and black mask, and apparated to the designated spot.

Hermione had no sooner opened her book than she heard the 'pop' of someone apparating. She looked up and she saw her masked man. She was shocked that he had come so soon. She was just as shocked that the note had found him. If he was that easy to find, she worried that the Ministry might be able to find him with equal ease.

Perhaps he was thinking the same thing, because he seemed apprehensive and abrasive as he stormed toward her, grabbed both her upper arms, forced her to stand in front of him, and shook her slightly.

Even as he grasped her arms, he held her note in his right hand and said, "How did you find me? Do you not know the dangers of sending such a communiqué! What if someone had seen? Did you tell anyone you were sending me this message?"

"Stop it!" she yelped. She placed her hands on his waist, and struggled out of his grasp. She stepped back and said, "I told no one! I needed to see you. This is not a trap."

"How did you find me?" he asked again. He suddenly began to panic. She must know his identity. That must be the reason for this meeting. She wanted to confront him. Now she would never forgive his lies. She would never consent to marriage.

"I am as shocked as you are that my message reached you!" she assured him. "I did not even know your name."

He calmed down a bit and looked at the outside of the message. Written by the seal, near the creased folds, was '_to the highwayman who stole my book'_. He refolded the note and placed it in his cloak.

He took a crucial breath and began to relax, only to stiffen when she pointed out, "If I found you this easily, the Ministry could as well. You should take care, sir."

He shook that thought from his mind and said, "Why was I beckoned?"

"I have a question for you," she said. Before she said more, she looked outside of her shelter, and saw dark clouds coming from the east, cloaking the morning sun in shades of grey. "I think it might rain," she said.

"That's not a question," he responded with a grin.

She turned to face him and grinned as well. "No, that is an observation, which I suppose my question is born from a few observations as well." He sat down, and opened up his arms, for her to continue.

"The floor is yours," he stated.

She started walking in front of him, her skirts swishing back and forth. She had on a yellow muslin gown, with green ribbons. She wore no hat or bonnet. Her hair was half up, half down. She had never looked lovelier. She placed her hands behind her back and said, "I have noticed a few things. Shall I share them with you?"

"I love to share things with you," he said with a crooked grin.

"Remember when I said that you seemed familiar, and that you reminded me of someone?"

"I remember everything you say," he said back.

"The way you speak, though the voice is lower, but your words and phrasing, is familiar to me," she began. She turned on her heel, and started back the other direction. His eyes followed her closely.

"Continue," he said when there was a lull to her ramblings.

"The way you stroked my cheek the other day felt similar to someone else's touch. Though your hair and eye colour is different, your height and weight it the same." She turned back to him, and suddenly, she frowned.

He frowned back.

She leaned forward.

He leaned away.

"Your eyes," she said.

"Yes?" he said. His hand went to his mask on his face, and suddenly, comprehension settled on him like a leaden weight. In his rush to meet her, he had forgotten the charm to change his eye colour.

"Your eyes are back to the grayish-blue that they were the first few times we met," she said in a rush.

He tried to smile, but he stood up quickly, to dart to the other side of the gazebo. He faced the grounds, and placed a hand on one of the beams that went from the ceiling to the floor. He said, "I assure you. They have always been plain, old brown. Perhaps the lack of sufficient light in the gazebo, along with the darkening sky of the approaching morning storm, and my mask, are playing tricks on you.

She stood to his side, peered up at him even as she placed her hand on the beam under his. "But," she began.

He turned to face her before he interrupted and said, "You carried on before about this other man's eyes, so I decided to please you today. This is merely a charm. My natural colour is brown." He hoped that she would believe him. He could tell that she did not.

Her look was one of pure skepticism, so he hastily added, "What is your question, Madam? I haven't all day."

Her original question, or observation, was to ask him if all of these similarities added up to what she suspected, which was that Draco was the highwayman. However, her dander was up, and she was slightly annoyed at him. Did he think her a moron?

She pointed her finger at him and said, "You are Draco Malfoy!" It was no longer a question, but an accusation.

Her blatant allegation shocked him. Apparently, there would be no more pussyfooting around. He could not have been more shocked if she had hexed him! He was on the verge of confessing everything when she added, "I swear, if you have lied to me all this time, I shall never forgive you!" She meant the lie she felt he was perpetrating now…the lie of denial. She did not care that he had pretended to be the highwayman. She had already suspected that fact, and did not care in the least.

However, he did not know that.

He was stuck in a difficult situation. He worried that if he said he was Draco, she would be angry. If he said he was not, he would be lying to her, and just yesterday, he promised no more lies, and she had just declared that a lie would be unforgivable. In deed, he suspected that she still harbored the thought that he lied to her about what happened during the war…that he betrayed her and her friends to his father and aunt. Though she said that she no longer had that dark thought, he could not be sure.

She was a baffling woman! If she thought he had lied to her, yet again, even though the other lie she accused him of two years ago was a false accusation, she would never trust or love him again. He had never set out to perpetrate a lie to her in the beginning. He merely wanted to burn his father's carriage that day! He did not know she would be in it. He equally cursed and embraced that day.

If he admitted the truth, she would feel hurt, and duped, and her pride would sting, and being the proud woman that she was, she might not recover, so he saw only one recourse. He had to lie, just once more. This would be the last time. He swore it on his own life.

For that reason, he started to laugh. "Lord Malfoy? You think me Lord Malfoy. The haughty, conceited, pampered prince? If I had the money of Lord Malfoy, would I be a highwayman, Love?" He continued to smile and said, "Even rakes like me have a line to draw, and I draw it at impersonating pompous, horses' arses!" He walked around the gazebo, but kept his eyes on her.

"Goodness," he proclaimed, "is he the man you spoke of, the one that you have feelings for, but whom you claim no longer cares for you?"

She was breathing so hard she could barely respond. Instead of answering his question, she said, "But many of the items you stole once belonged to his family! You did not even take the carriage for profit. You burnt it!"

He was in a pickle. It was lucky for him that the Aurors were not as smart as Hermione Granger was. He walked to the edge of the enclosure and said, "Mere coincidence, my sweet!"

She pulled on his sleeve and said, "Your eyes! I am not stupid! You are Malfoy!"

He smiled, grabbed her around the waist, bent her backwards at an awkward angle, lowered his face to hers and said, "Ah, you have been deceived. How sweet for me. Does all of this mean that you love me instead of him? Nevertheless, this is boring. I will say that I am the Prince Regent of England himself if you would but give me a kiss, my sweet. That is what I have been after since the beginning."

She pushed on his chest. He let her go. He had to act raffish toward her, to disguise they way he had been acting toward her every time he had appeared to her as the highwayman. He now recognized that he had been portraying his true feelings while donning the mask, and when he was himself, he disguised his feelings. It was the worst sort of paradox.

Why was it when he had a mask, and acted under a façade, he could be himself, and show her what he felt for her, but once the mask was removed, he was backwards, harsh, and cruel? It was not his eyes that gave him away, but his actions, which he would rectify immediately.

He grabbed her arm again, pulled her close, and said, "Whoa ho, so the mighty Lord Malfoy was the man who stole your heart, aye?" He laughed again and said, "No wonder he changed his affections toward you. You are nothing but a prickly, taciturn woman! I have been wrangling to steal a kiss for weeks now, but you are nothing but a frigid bore."

Once again, she wiggled from his embrace, pointed toward the open field, and said, "Go away! I do not wish to hear anymore! I was a fool!"

"I am sorry if the truth hurts, my darling girl, but someone must say it," he continued. "Your Lord Malfoy is better off without you."

"For your information he wants to marry me!" she shouted.

He gleamed, "And yet you sent a message to me! Were you about to profess your love to me, in the hope that you and I would wed instead? I wish I had admitted to being your Lord Malfoy. Perhaps it would have been advantageous for me!"

"Every touch, every word…you want me to believe everything was a lie?" she asked, incredulously, hand over her chest.

"Of course, Madam," he barked. He hated the way her eyes glistened with tears, but it was for the best. "Surely, you did not harbor true feelings toward me? I am a scoundrel, a rogue, and a blackguard. Did you expect anything less?"

"I expected more!" she shouted.

"Then you _are_ a fool!" he shouted back. "I am not your prince! I shall not sweep you off your feet, ma'am! Go back to reading fairytales!"

"Speaking of," she said. She walked up to him and in daring and bravery, which made him proud, she held out her hand and said, "My book, Sir!"

"Was burnt to a crisp like the carriage I stole, my lady!" he harped.

She took a step backwards, gasped, and said, "Leave now, and never show your face to me again. I shall not speak of this to anyone, because frankly, I do not wish to look any more the fool than I already feel. I shall not inform the Ministry of how to find you, or of the crimes in which I am aware, but if you ever show your face to me again, or steal from anyone I know, you will meet the other side of my wand!"

He did what he had wanted. She thoroughly hated the highwayman now, and she no longer thought there were comparisons between the real Draco, and the highwayman. He could not have asked for more. He turned, his cloak swishing behind him, and then turned back, once he stood in the rain, which had just begun to fall. He bowed and said, "It has been a pleasure." He disapparated away.

She was so angry that she pointed her wand toward a small rock, pictured it as the highwayman's head, and blew it to smithereens!

She willed herself to calm down. She was sad about her book, but there was nothing to be done about it. She felt stupid for being hoodwinked, but no one ever need know, and at least she knew one thing for sure, this highwayman was right, he was a blackguard and a cad. It was Draco that she loved, and she would gladly marry him. She could only hope that someday he might love as much as she suspected she loved him.

She sat down on the circular bench, in the middle of the gazebo, which rounded the largest support beam right in the center of the structure. She hung her head. She would not shed one tear for this man. Not one. She heard another pop, and stood quickly, wand at the ready.

"Are you planning on cursing me before you even agree to the wedding, because I would suggest you wait until after the wedding, and inherit my fortune, but that is just my suggestion," Draco said to her, arms raised, a slight smile on his face.

To his surprise, she rushed to him, grabbed his hand and said, "I have decided that I shall marry you, but I still want some conditions met first."

"Why the suddenly change of heart? I thought you needed a week to settle some things," he stated, giving her hand a squeeze before letting it go. He wondered if he really wanted her like this…full of desperation, and on the rebound. He decided he did.

"Will you meet my conditions?" she inquired, ignoring his question.

"Explain them to me first, than I shall decide," he said solemnly.

"Never mind. I am through with the lot of you! All you men can go to Hades and back for all I care!" She began to gather her things, but then in another a burst of anger, threw everything back on the floor and started to the steps, leading out of the gazebo.

He caught up to her and held her wrist. She turned her head, to look over her right shoulder at him. "Do not run from me, Hermione," he said, "for it would be a mistake, and you have to know that I would catch you at any cost."

"I'll do whatever I please whenever I please. You have the same right," she barked.

"Then I elect to hold you here until you tell me why you are so angry, and until you tell me your conditions," he commanded with a frown. "Because depending on what they are, I might not want to marry you!" For a man who promised her no more lies, he could not have proclaimed a larger one if he had tried.

"Let me go," she said, turning back to face the rain.

He stood behind her. She felt his warm breath on her neck, and just like the time they were in the Gallery, she felt flushed at his nearness. The air outside was warm and humid, and the rain caused a mist to form over the land. She felt close, hot, and slightly off kilter by the weather and by the man behind her.

"Why have you changed your mind about marriage, Hermione?" he whispered. He let an arm snake around her middle.

She caved slightly, and leaned into him. "Let me go." The command was uttered half-heartedly, so he did not do as she requested.

"Do not think you can ever run away from me again," he said. "As I just avowed, it would be a mistake on your part. It was a mistake on my part to let you go two years ago, and it is not one I will repeat."

She closed her eyes, sagged against him and said, "Is it not good enough that I agreed to marry you? Please, just let me go for now."

"Do not run from me," he repeated, turning her in his arms so that she faced him. "I shall never let you go again!"

"Let me go!" She pushed on his arms and ran out into the rain.

He ran to stop her, turned her around, and said, "I told you, you cannot run from me ever again!"


	12. Chapter 12

All characters belong to JKR

**_23, April 1813, In the Morning, in her Room:_**

**_Draco entered her room, noticed the book of fairytales on her lap, and froze. He wondered how she had happened upon it. He knew that he had never returned it to her. He also knew that she must now know that he was definitely the highwayman. That must be what she meant when she said that he deceived her, and the trouble was, she was right, because he had._**

**_They merely stared at each other. She folded the book and placed it on a small table to the left of the chair. He waited for her assault, her accusations, her questions, about the book, but nothing came._**

**_He rubbed this left eye with the heel of his hand and then walked up to her, pulled her to stand with his hands on her shoulders, and then to her surprise, he picked her up. He decided that he would ignore the book, forget that he saw it._**

**_He walked out of the room with her in his arms. Instead of fighting him, she placed her head on his chest. He walked down the long hallway, toward her old room._**

**_He looked at the footman in the hallway and said, "Wake the other servants. Mrs. Malfoy will be moving back into her room today, the one next to mine."_**

**_He reached the door, had trouble opening it with her in his arms, but once it was opened, he stepped over the threshold._**

**_He placed her gently on the bed, sat next to her hip and said, "I am the highwayman. I lied to you. However, let me remind you, Wife, that you lied, too. You once promised me that you would never run away again, and you did."_**

* * *

**Chapter 12: 17, July 1812, Memories in the Rain: **

"I shall not run away from you, ever again, I promise, just let go of my arm," she beseeched him, and believing her, he did. He let go of her arm, but stayed close beside her.

She said, "Would you like to join me in a picnic on this raining morning?" She pointed toward the picnic basket.

"I am not here for a picnic, since I've had breakfast, and it is not yet time for lunch," he said back. She moved gracefully to the bench in the middle of the gazebo, and sat down. He remained where he was. "Are you to tell me your conditions now?"

"Yes," she said. "I shall marry you, because it seems I have no choice, but my conditions are as following: I will not share your wedding bed until I feel comfortable with you. I must learn more about you, become reacquainted." What she really wanted to wait for was for him to say that he loved her. She would not share a bed with him until he did. She also would not tell him that she loved him until he said the words first. She had already said it to him once, and it left her feeling like a fool, and her shame was even deeper now that she almost revealed it to the highwayman, thinking he was Draco.

He approached her and said, "Fine, but my condition is that you be open and receptive to my advances. As I said, it will be unconventional, but I will court you, woo you after we wed, and I shall make you want to be my wife. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, you must never lie to me again."

_Meeting in the Forest, the First Time, During the War:_

_Hermione heard a twig break in the forest. That in and of itself would not be odd, since many animals lived in the forest, but she knew this sound was different. She stayed on her back, but reached in her coat for her wand._

_She heard rustling of the undergrowth, and she hurried to try to get to her feet, but only made it to her knees when she found a wand pointing at her. "Why are you alone and lying on the ground, Granger?"_

_Hermione's wand flew from her hand and into the hands of her subjugator. She looked up from her place on the ground, into the grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. She quickly looked around him to see if she could see anyone else. He appeared to be alone._

_He also appeared to be at a loss for words, just as she was._

_He placed her wand in his pocket, approached her, and held out his hand. She looked confused, her eyes darting from his hand, to his wand, to his face. He continued to hold out his hand. She stood up, without his aid. He slowly put his hand to his side._

"_Granger, what are you doing out here alone? Where are Potter and Weasley?" he repeated._

"_As if I would deem to tell you," she retorted._

"_More likely, you do not know," he answered back. "I have been watching you for a while. You are quite alone, are you not?" _

"_They are nearby," she lied._

"_Of course they are, and I am a Muggle-born. Which of these two things seem more likely to be true?" he asked with disdain._

"_What are you going to do with me? Where are you going to take me?" she asked with her chin in the air._

"_Defiant as always," he said._

"_Arrogant as always," she answered. "I shall not fall down on my knees for you, Draco Malfoy. If you mean to take me captive, then do so. Otherwise, leave."_

_He laughed. "Goodness, I think I'm the one with the wand pointed at you, Granger, and yet, you seem to be under the impression that you can tell me what to do. You always had an annoying habit of doing that. You think that I am the egotistical one, but your conceit and pride are much larger than mine." He pointed to an old, large, round stump by the water's edge and said, "Sit down."_

_She remained standing._

_He leveled his arm, pointed his wand at her chest and said, "SIT DOWN!"_

_She walked slowly to the stump and sat down. "What are you to do with me?" she asked again._

"Let me think for a moment," he said. He really did not know what he meant to do. He would never hurt her. He had not meant for her to see him, but now that she had, he had to do SOMETHING with her.

"_Your moment is up," she said, still insolent. "If you mean to kill me, do so. If you mean to turn me in to the Death Eaters, or snatchers, do so."_

"_I should, you know," he leered, circling her. "They are right here in these woods. Potter and Weasley were fools to leave you alone. How long have they been gone?"_

"_As if I would tell you a thing," she said, her head following him as he walked around her. She turned it quickly to the other side, as he approached her from behind. He stood to her side._

"_When did you expect them back?" he asked._

_She actually shook her head and said, "And I repeat, I shall not tell you a thing!"_

_He pulled on her arm, forced her to stand, and said, "I could torture it out of you. Is that not what you expect?"_

_She raised her chin again. He admired her courage, yet he also thought she was very foolish. She had no clue that he would not hurt her. Others would. Others could, as they were nearby. He said, "I take it your encampment is well guarded. I searched for it everywhere right after I discovered you. Or else, perhaps you traveled far away from it. You seem stupid enough to do so."_

_She wrenched her arm from his grasp and said, "Never call me stupid!"_

"_You do not think it is stupid to go beyond your wards and the protection of your camp, Granger?" he asked in disbelief._

_She knew that she was being reckless. She did think it was stupid, but she would never admit it to him. _

"_Perhaps you wanted to be caught," he goaded. "Perhaps you are tired of Potter and Weasley. You have a need to be tortured, raped, or killed. Is that it? You want to become a Death Eater's concubine, or a werewolf's luncheon?"_

_She frowned and then walked up to him and slapped his face._

"_You get that one for free," he said as his head snapped back into place. He rubbed his cheek. She had a bad habit of striking him. "Although I hope my harsh words have scared you enough to act with more prudence in the future, my lady." He reached in his cloak, and threw her wand on the ground. "Go back to your encampment, and stay there until Potter and Weasley return. As soon as they do, tell them they must leave these woods for another. Tell them that the Death Eaters are close."_

"_What type of game is this?" she asked. "Is this a trap?"_

"_My lady, if it was a game, or a trap, I would not have returned your wand. You would be well on your way to the Dark Lord. He has set a mighty bounty on your head, one even the richest man would not refuse." He bent down, picked up her wand, and this time, handed it to her. He turned his back to leave, but she rushed up to him and pointed her wand at his back._

_He stopped, turned slowly and smiled. "Only a coward points their wand at someone's back, Granger."_

"_Only a coward kills an old man in a tower, who was ill, and was unable to defend himself," she said, referring to their headmaster._

_Draco threw his wand on the ground, rushed to her, and wrestled hers from her hand. It all happened so fast, and as if a whirlwind had approached her, that she did not have time to react. He shook her shoulders, anger pouring out of every fiber of his body. In an act of rage, he tossed her, not too lightly, to the ground. _

_He straddled her, placing a knee on each side of her hips. Her dress rode up to her knees, and she kicked her legs, and struggled, even as he grabbed both her wrists with his hands, and placed them on each side of her head._

"_Madam, do not ever call me a coward! I did NOT kill our headmaster. He knew of my task, and he could have stopped me if he had wanted! Things were done that had to be done, things in which you have no knowledge, so do not speak of them again!"_

_She stopped struggling. She turned her head to the side. She started to cry. He closed his eyes, and sighed. _

"_I am afraid," she said finally. That small admission made him feel worse than he had ever felt. _

"_Of me?" he asked diffidently, though he knew it was a stupid question. She was a woman, he a much stronger man and he had resorted to physical violence, and although he knew her pride was wounded worse than her body, he knew it was wrong to strong-arm her._

_She looked up at him and said, "Of everything." He moved off her body. She turned to her side and continued to cry. He looked around the ground for her wand and his own. He tapped her shoulder with her wand. She took it without looking._

_He moved so that his back was against the tree stump. He removed his cloak, and since she only had on a lightweight, short pelisse, he offered it to her. She sat up, and placed it around her own shoulders. She sat facing him._

"_What are you the most afraid of, Granger?" he asked._

"_Of not succeeding," she said._

"_That is a scary thing," he said. He was afraid of the light side not succeeding, too. "How long have Potter and Weasley really been gone?"_

"_Too long," she replied. "They left five days ago. They were to be gone no more than twenty-four hours. They had a lead on something," she said slowly, not wanting to reveal anything to him, "and they left me behind this time, and I do not know what I should do. Should I stay here, should I go look for them? I was low on water and out of firewood."_

"_But why did you not collect what you needed quickly, and return to your encampment as quickly and cautiously as you could?" he asked. "You were out in the open for a long time. It was reckless and thoughtless of you. You are too smart for that," he admonished._

"_I know." That was all she could say. "Do you really mean to do me no harm?"_

_He smiled slightly and nodded. _

"_Then I should collect my water and kindling, and be on my way," she said. She trusted him, for some reason. She stood up and started to pick up the kindling she dropped earlier. He stood, and spied her leather pouch of water. He picked it up and after she stood, arms full of kindling, wand in hand, he placed it over her shoulder._

"_I shall stay here, and watch that no one else comes. I shall not follow you to your encampment," he promised._

_She started to walk away, unsure if she should continue to trust him, but still, she turned and said, "Why are you helping me?"_

"_Maybe I am helping myself. Have you ever thought of that?" he asked. "My soul needs cleansed, Granger. So does my conscience."_

"_I understand, Malfoy." She took several more steps, but turned back once more and said, "Thank you."_

_She started to walk away a third time when he called out to her. "Granger!"_

"_What?" she asked, turning around._

"_I shall continue to watch over you, and I shall not turn you in, ever, but may I come and speak with you again, only when we are safe from prying eyes?" he asked._

"_Why would you want to speak with me? You hate me, remember?" she asked._

_He walked up to her. He took the kindling from her arms, and threw it back on the ground. He placed a hand on her cheek, and then moved it from her cheek to the back of her neck. Her breathing quickened. He placed the other hand on her arm, and moved it slowly, almost seductively, down her arm, to her hand, before clasping her hand in his._

_And she allowed it._

_Then he pulled her closer. Their eyes locked. The wind blew her hair toward his face. He smoothed it back with the hand that was on her neck, and then replaced his hand where it was originally, on the back of her neck. Finally, when her heartbeat was loud enough to match the tattoo beating in his own heart, he leaned his face to hers, and placed a kiss upon on lips._

_And she allowed it._

_It was a quick kiss. He looked up at her and said, "I do not hate you. I do not think I ever have." He released her reluctantly, picked up her kindling, said, "Hold out your arms." She held out her arms, took the kindling, and turned quickly and left._

_And he allowed it._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco said, "And I shall never lie to you again. Will you allow me to announce our engagement at the Bones' ball, as originally planned?"

She nodded and said, "I shall allow it, although I am not happy about announcing it in such a fashion."

He smiled and approached her. "Would you allow me to take you to the ball in my new barouche?"

"Of course," she said. "I will allow it."

"And one last thing, would you allow me to kiss you goodbye? After all, we are affianced now, are we not? You allowed me to kiss you before we were promised in marriage, so where is the harm, Hermione?"

Sensing her indecision, he approached her slowly. He smiled before he took her right arm. He placed a kiss on the crook of her arm, on her inside elbow, and then placed that arm around his neck. Her other arm hung straight down at her side, so he took that hand, kissed that wrist, and placed it on his other shoulder. He positioned his hands on her waist. She tilted her head upward, and he bent his down. She slipped one hand down from his neck, and allowed her fingers to drift back and forth, lightly, across his lips. He kissed her fingertips.

She looked at him with questioning eyes. Her hand went back to his neck, and felt the soft hair at the base of his skull. She closed her eyes, and that was all the permission he needed.

He brushed his mouth softly against hers, moving his lips over hers, but not with force or exertion. Not yet. Instead of kisses, the mutual movement of their lips against the others was more like sensual caresses. When he moved his hands from her waist to her back, and pressed her closer, he pressed his mouth harder onto hers, to deepen the kiss.

And she allowed it.

It felt wonderful! They had never kissed like this before! It was beyond intoxicating. She pressed her lips a bit firmer against his, just as he had done with his own. She felt his tongue tickle her bottom lip, and she gasped, which made her open her mouth. That was his enticement, so his tongue stopped playing against her bottom lip and entered her mouth.

It was a foreign feeling, but a pleasant one, and soon, her tongue was moving smoothly against his. She was aware of his hard body, thighs, chest, arms, touching her body…his hands on her back, his thighs against hers, his chest pressing against her breasts.

His kiss was warm and strong and she shuddered slightly in his embrace. He lifted his head, not wanting to go too far, and knowing he might not stop if he was not careful. Soon, very soon, she would be completely his. He would even make her say that she loved him. He would hear it. He had to, because he loved her. He would not tell her until she told him, so therefore, he had his work cut out for him, because he knew that she did not love him yet, but soon she would.

He smiled down at her and said, "I shall see you tonight, my sweet lady."

He started to let her go, but she placed her hands on his chest and said, "One thing, Lord Malfoy. I have changed my mind."


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N:_

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**All characters belong to JKR**

**_23, April 1813, Later that Morning:_**

**_He lay down beside her, after he placed her on her former bed, and that was where he stayed. They both drifted off to sleep. The butler rapped at the door once, after daybreak, to ask if they should move her ladyship's things into the room._**

**_Draco answered the door, and told them to wait._**

**_Hermione woke up with the sound of the knock on the door. She watched Draco cross back over to the bed, where he sat down next to her. She looked up at the face of her husband. Her hand went to his cheek. That simple act, from the woman he loved, gave him courage. He said, "How did you find your book?"_**

_"**I found it where you hid it, my Lord," she accused. "I found it as I am sure you wanted me to find it."**_

_"**Know this, Wife, I never wanted you to find it, if it meant that you knew I had lied, but I lied about being the masked man before my vow to never lie again."**_

_"**And was this lie, after the vow, continued after I promised I would marry you, on the condition that you never lie again?" she asked.**_

_"**It was continued, but not renewed," he said. His hand went up to her face, as her hand left his.**_

_"**Semantics, Malfoy" she muttered. She turned her head from him slightly. She would not give into him so easily this time. She had made things too easy for him for too long.**_

_"**Truth, finally, and please, call me Draco," he contradicted. He placed his hand on her face, pulled it toward his, and leaned down and kissed her lips.**_

* * *

**Chapter 13: 18, July 1812, Indecisions: **

He tried not to let his heart stop at that one phrase from her. Before he could ask her to clarify, she added, "Please, let us not yet announce our engagement. Our business is ours and ours alone. The members of the ton do not need to be privy to our business."

His eyes narrowed, he lifted his hand, and with a feathery, soft caress, his fingers went down her face. "First, you need to find another name for me besides Lord Malfoy. Second, are you ashamed to be engaged to me?"

"Au contraire," she said, and then hesitated. "I would think it is the opposite. I am a Muggle-born, and our union will be frowned upon, no matter the recent sanctions. Either people will question your sanity, and my own, or they will believe that the recently passed laws have forced you to marry me, and they will feel sorry for you. Please, be patient with me. Let me become accustom to this arrangement."

"Also, with that said, please believe me when I say that I care less about what others think and feel, than what is in my own heart. I do not want to share this with just anyone. I ask this of you. I have changed my mind, and I do not wish us to announce it yet. Do not announce it at the ball tonight. In addition, I do not wish for an engagement ball, or for a large wedding. I want a holy union, witnessed by a few, just between you and me. Do you not recall that I once mentioned that to you?"

He did recall. He would do anything she asked. He would never let her know that she had that much sway over him, but he would even be tempted to proclaim his love, if she persuaded him to do so. He embraced her, and whispered, "Whatever your heart desires."

He let her go, and he disapparated away, just like that.

She stood there in shock. What had just occurred? She touched her fingertips to her lips, and smiled. Yes, marriage to Malfoy might be agreeable after all, and who knows, he might even someday tell her that he loves her, in which case, she would finally be able to say it back to him.

After her meeting with Malfoy in the gazebo, Hermione paced back and forth in her room at Shell Cottage. What had she agreed to? Had she seriously told Draco Malfoy that she would marry him? What madness was this? No, no, no. She could not do it. At least she had convinced him not to announce it at the ball tonight. That would give her time to tell him that she could not go through with it.

The whole highwayman ordeal had her head spinning. She was a smart woman, and no matter what he said, she was still convinced that he was the highwayman, but she would have to make him admit it. Until he admitted it, she would never be one hundred percent certain. Would it make her more resolute to marrying him if he had admitted it to her this morning?

She could not marry him! Could she? She thought that she loved him, but really, what was love? Did she even know? He surely did not love her. He could not. It was insupportable. During the war, she asked him if he loved her and he said that he did not. Why then, would he suddenly show her interest and ask to marry her? She truly did not understand. He was a strange man. He was a better man when he wore his mask, this morning not included.

Hermione sat at her desk, to compose a letter to Malfoy, to tell him that there was no way she could marry him until he was completely honest with her, no matter what her stepmother declared. How could she marry a man she barely knew? How could she marry a man who did not love her?

She went to school with him, but they were never friends. They met four times during the war; only three of those times did they share any feelings. They kissed two of those times, but it was a turbulent, strained, time. She would not normally kiss a man she had barely known. In fact, Malfoy was the only man she had ever kissed.

Kissing a man and having a romantic infatuation with his alter ego, the masked man, did not equate to love. Why would he want to marry her? Why would she want to marry him?

She was merely reacting to the recent loss of her father. She was lonely and afraid of being alone. That had to be the reason.

She picked up the quill, and wrote his name, but then stopped. What was she to do?

She touched her lips again. Why had his kiss felt so wonderful? It muddled her brain and fogged up her thought processes. She threw the quill on the floor, stood up, and yelled, "This will not do!"

"What will not do?" said a voice from the doorway. It was Harry Potter.

She ran to him and said, "Harry, how am I to marry a man I barely know? How am I to marry a man who clearly does not love me?"

Taking her hands and leading her to a settee in the corner, he sat down and pulled her next to him. "Hermione," he began, "what does your heart say? I have to tell you, when it was first decided, at your stepmother's house, I expected more of an argument from you. I expected your outrage, and your anger, and I even feared that I might have to restrain you magically…but then you merely said one word. You said, 'no,' and walked out of the house."

"Then this morning, I go to find you at the gazebo, where Bill claims you went to have time alone to consider things, and I find that Malfoy is walking away, and you are standing alone, dazed, and might I say, with the look of love about you."

"The look of love?" she asked.

"Exactly," he regaled. "You know that I shall never like Malfoy, but I have to say, I have found out some things since the war ended, that makes it so that I at least no longer hate the man. I only want your happiness. If you are confused about your feelings, that is one thing. My advice will be for you to take time, think about things, and not rush headfirst into a situation which will be permanent." He held her hands tighter.

"If you are afraid of disappointing people, if you say no, my advice will be for you to stop living for others, and to live for yourself. You will always have a home here, or with me, or anywhere you wish to live."

He stood up, and finished with, "But if you do not love him, and do not want to marry him, and you are merely looking for a way to escape what you feel is the only outcome, then I shall take you to the continent myself. We shall leave now, I will secure your future, and you will be safe and happy. Tell me, Hermione, what is in your heart?"

"Oh, Harry," she said, coming to stand in front of him. "I hardly know what is in my heart. It has been so long since I consulted it. It has been locked up, and put on a shelf, for far too long. I thought that I had feelings for Malfoy, during the war, but our only meetings were fleeting and under duress. I have to admit, I have met with him a few times since returning to London," (she would not tell Harry that it was as the highwayman), "but again, I hardly have had time to know him. Why would he want to marry me? Why would I want to marry him?"

"Why, in deed," Harry answered. "You do realize that you are avoiding answering my question."

"I cannot answer!" she shouted. "I hardly know what to say or do! No, that is not true! I know what I must do! I have to have the truth first, and then I will know what to do!" She rushed to her wardrobe, removed a pelisse and a bonnet, and ran down the stairs.

She passed Fleur who said, "Hermione, we must have you try on your dress for tonight."

"I shall do it later!" she shouted, as she ran outside. Harry was on her heels.

"Hermione, wait!" he shouted, as she disapparated away. He would have followed, but he had no clue as to where she went.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco was in his front drawing room, pacing back and forth in front of his fireplace. He was worried about the ball tonight. He feared that she might change her mind about marrying him. He knew that he should tread with caution on all things concerning Hermione. Perhaps she was right; they should save their announcement for another time. He also did not think they should have an engagement ball, although he told her stepmother that they would. He would have told the woman anything for her to agree to the union.

In fact, the woman drove a hard bargain. She demanded five thousand galleons, and a yearly stipend of the same. Such a request would not be so unheard of, if the woman was Hermione's real mother. However, money meant very little to Draco, and he had such a large amount of it, that he would agree to almost anything. Still, he knew that Hermione's father had not left the woman destitute. True, his title and manor were left to one of her Muggle relatives, but a trust fund of some sort, along with the home the woman was living in, was left for her, so really, for her to demand a yearly stipend was a bit unorthodox.

In addition, she did something else that shocked Malfoy to his very core, despite the fact that he would never tell a soul. The woman tried to discourage Draco from marrying Hermione. She actually offered up her youngest daughter in Hermione's place. She tried to persuade Draco that her daughter was a pureblood like him, and she had the gall to say that the young chit was ten times prettier than Hermione was.

He tried not to act affronted. He smiled at the old bat, and told her that his mind was quite made up for Hermione. That was when she made her stipulations known. As for Hermione's dowry, which was large even by Magical standards, the woman asked that Draco have it reverted to her, instead of it going with Hermione, since Hermione was not even aware that her father had made provisions for a dowry. She asked that Hermione never know. He agreed, only because Hermione would have no need for her dowry once they were man and wife.

He sighed. Everything had to go well. He could not lose her, not again. It was true that he would not open his heart so willingly to her this time. He would not claim his love for her, as he did before, because that almost cost her, her life the last time, during the war, but he would see that she would never want for a thing, that she would be well provided for, and cherished all of her days. He would be her friend and confidant, and eventually, her lover. He would hope that one day, she might love him, and if, and when, that happened, he would profess his love to her in return.

* * *

_During the War:_

_Hermione and Harry were all alone. Ron had just left them, apparently for good. Hermione stayed outside the tent and cried for him to return. He was their best friend, and they needed him. She was more afraid than ever, because now, it was just her and Harry._

_She was lonely. She was worried. She was hungry, dirty, and she felt friendless. She told Harry that she would take up the first watch that night. Harry was so tired. He needed to rest, and she could not sleep even if she tried._

_She secured the wards and concealment charms on the tents before she sat down by the tent's door to take up watch. A blanket was around her shoulders, and her wand in her hand. She heard Harry's gentle snores right before she closed the tent flap. She did not mean for it to happen, but she started to cry again._

_Draco had been searching for them for days, when he thought he heard her crying. He tried to watch out for them whenever he could. He would never tell a soul, but he had placed a locating charm on her wand, connecting it to his, that last time he had overtaken her in the woods. He did it quickly, and crudely, and at first, he had feared that it did not take, because it had been months since he had been able to locate her, but finally, tonight, locate her he did._

_He could not see her, but he heard her crying. He stood by a grove of trees, closed his eyes, and listened. Finally, he whispered, "Granger? Can you hear me?"_

_She stopped crying when she heard her name. She stood up. She did not think the voice belonged to Ron. She stepped slightly away from the tent and its concealment charm. She was still protected by the wards. She looked out among the trees and said, "Malfoy, is that you?"_

"_Come out from the wards, Hermione," he said. "I need to see you."_

_She stood at the edge of the wards, and scanned the dark forest for him. "I cannot do so. Where are you?"_

_He stepped out into the small clearing, and he finally saw her. "Why are you crying?"_

"_It matters not," she said. "I cry frequently these days." She tried to smile, but it came off as forced._

_He sat down on one side of the wards, and she sat down on the other side. To take her mind off her tears, he started to ask her questions. At first, he asked her mundane things, such as, "How old were you when you suspected you were a witch?" and "What are your favourite colours?" They laughed when she said that her favourite colour was red and they laughed harder still when he revealed that his was green. _

_Then, he started to ask her intimate things. Abstract things. He asked, "What do you want to do after the war?" He asked, "Do you ever want to marry?"_

_Her face lit up when she talked of the things she wanted to do after the war. He smiled when she smiled. She talked on and on about how she wanted to travel, move to France, open a school for witches, teach, write a book, and yes, fall in love and start a family._

_He asked, "What is love, Hermione?" _

"_I have never been in love, Malfoy," she answered. "I am not sure I am qualified to answer that question. I suppose that love is an all-consuming feeling, mingled with extreme passion, sometimes with pain, always with happiness, and often with contentment. I would imagine that when a person falls in love, they do it completely, with every fiber of their being. I imagine that a true love never dies, knows no bounds, and no chain is strong enough to break it."_

"_Do you believe a person can fall in love quickly, or must love ruminate, and take time to grow?" he asked. He wondered how she would answer._

"_Again, I would not know, not being in love, but I would think it would come fast, and a person would fall hard. They would know right away if they are in love, but even then, love can grow more intense over time."_

"_Those are my sentiments," he expressed. He had fleeting feelings for her the last two years of school, which amounted to infatuation. He had felt deep attraction to her the last time they met. He felt the stirrings of love after they kissed. Now, he thought of her everyday, and dreamt of her every night, and he knew in his heart of hearts that he was falling in love with her. If only there was not a war. If only he could tell her how he felt. If only he was not a pureblood, and she was not a Muggle-born._

_She looked down. Then, to his amazement, she reached over and took one of his hands. He said, "The wards?"_

"_I am outside the wards," she admitted. "I trust you."  
_

_He clasped her other hand, so that they sat on the ground, facing each other, hand in hand, heart to heart. He said, "Tell me what sort of man you wish to marry someday?"_

"_A man who is honest, good, kind and generous. A man who will give me his heart freely. A man who is not afraid to show me how he thinks and feels, and a man who will be my best friend in the world, and who will make me feel safe, even in unsafe times," she answered clearly. "I have thought of this all my life, although if you ever tell a soul what I am about to admit, I shall have you flogged."_

"_Strong words, my lady, but proceed, your secrets are safe with me," he said, rubbing his thumbs over the tops of her hands. Her words had already made him sad and happy at the same time, so what more could she say? What more could he feel?_

"_Someday, I want to marry my best friend."_

_He frowned. "You want to marry Potter?" She smiled and shook her head no. "Not Weasley, surely!" he snorted._

_She laughed and said, "No, not Ron, although my tears tonight were because he left us." She suddenly wondered if she should have revealed that. He looked upset all of the sudden. She decided not to dwell on that and said, "I mean that I want to fully trust and like the man I want to marry someday, and then love him lastly."_

"_And what of your wedding? Is it not true that all girls dream of their wedding day, Hermione?" he said with a smile._

"_That is where the flogging will come in, if you tell anyone that I am like all of those other girls, who dream romantic dreams of a wedding that may never take place, but I want a wedding outdoors, with trees, foliage, and nature at my beck and call. I am beginning to change my views on that, after my time in the woods these last few months," she added with a smile._

_He laughed. _

_She continued. "I only want my husband to be, myself, and two witnesses, along with the Officiate, to attend. I want the birds and trees to be our assembly. I want it to be a private affair, my heart to his heart. Silly, no? Women often think of their wedding day, long before they even have an intended. I always thought it was silly, but now I admit to the same weaknesses. What do you think, Lord Malfoy?"_

_He pulled her closer. She had no choice but to come up to her knees, to kneel before him. He moved his hands from hers, and grasped her shoulders. Then he kneeled as well, and embraced her, before kissing her forehead. "I think that you should continue to dream your dreams, Hermione, and I hope for your sake that they always come true. Also, I have a request. Do you think you might call me Draco?"_

"_Yes, Draco," she said slowly. They stared at each other intensely until a sound broke through the night._

_Draco and Hermione both turned toward the direction of the tent when they heard Harry call out her name. He scrambled to his feet, and pulled her up to him. He said, "Go now, Hermione. I shall return when I can."_

_She smiled, and ran back inside the wards, and soon, she was gone under the blanketed protection of the concealment charm._

_He smiled, and walked back out toward the woods, to watch over her for the rest of the night. He hoped all of her dreams would someday come true._

* * *

Draco heard the bell to his front door. He walked to the foyer, and told his butler that he would answer. He knew it was Hermione. He felt her. He opened it quickly, and she stood on the other side.

She was breathing hard. He said, "Come in, please, come in."

"I have one last request," she said, her hands clenched in front of her.

"Anything, please, come in." He reached for her hand. She stepped back.

"No," she said. "Just promise me one more thing."

"I already told you, as long as you promise not to run away from me, I will promise you the stars and the moon, and the sky above," he said, worried.

She inhaled slowly, and then exhaled a slow, laborious breath, and said, "Promise me that you are not the highwayman. It is important. Our live together cannot be based on lies and deceit. I have hated you for so long, because of a perceived lie, which I really do now believe was false. I thought you had betrayed us during the war, but I know that you did not, but I cannot start a life with you, feeling betrayed once more. Please, are you the highwayman?"

Draco felt torn. His chest hurt. He felt as if iron bars were wrapped around his heart. She would never know. She _could_ never know. "I am not sure what you mean, but if I were, what would that mean?" he asked.

"It would mean that we are starting out with lies between us," she said. She was not completely sure what else that entailed.

He felt actual pain. He would worry about the lies later, even though he knew that every good intention based on lies, was like a house that was built on sand, and they were bound to crumble eventually…still, he would deal with that when the time came.

"I don't know to what you are referring," he said. "What highwayman? You mean the one that burned Weasley's carriage? You think that he and I are the same person? Really?" He was certain that he had not actually lied with that sentence. Instead, he turned it into questions. Still lies, yes, but he once again convinced himself that he would worry about that after they married, and not before.

She looked at him unbelieving at first, and then she actually smiled. She smiled larger, and larger and said, "Thank you. Never mind. It was a fleeting thought. I know I was mistaken. I have to get back to Shell Cottage. My stepsister has picked out a dark green gown for me tonight, and I must have it altered."

He bit his bottom lip with apprehension. He would never know if not telling her the truth now was the right thing, because someday she would find out, and it might be worse to find out later, than now, but as he did with every other bad thought, he pushed that thought aside as well and said, "Green in my favourite colour."

"I remember," she said, again with a smile. She leaned forward, placed a hand on his shoulder, and kissed his cheek. "Until tonight, my Lord."

She turned to leave, and he called out, "Really, you should start calling me Draco."

"Perhaps I shall wait until we are married, and then I shall call you 'Husband'," she said slyly.

He held her hand and said, "And it would be my privilege to call you 'Wife'."


	14. Chapter 14

**All characters belong to JKR**

**_23, April 1813, Afternoon under a tree:_**

_"**May I join you?" Draco asked his wife, as she sat on a blanket under a large oak tree, near the rose garden.**_

_"**It is your house, so do as you must," she responded. She took a deep breath in as he sat on the blanket beside her. "I have missed the sunshine."**_

_"**You live in England now, so of course you miss the sunshine," he responded with a sly smile.**_

_"**I meant since I have been inside recuperating," she said sternly. "Tell me, what happened to me? Why have I been ill?"**_

_"**Do you really not know? Do you not remember?" he asked.**_

_"**Tell me," she begged. "Was I in an accident of some sort?"**_

_"**You were injured, but it was not an accident," he said back.**_

* * *

**Chapter 14: 18, July 1812, At the Ball: **

Later that evening, when he picked her up for the ball, he found that he had trouble swallowing. He felt choked, both by the lies he told earlier, when he denied being the highwayman once more, and equally choked by the sheer beauty of her. She looked stunning in the dark green, brocade dress. He had charmed his waistcoat and his jacket to the exact same colour, and only discovered the fact that they matched exactly when he first set eyes upon her. They rode in silence to the ball, and to Hermione it was a comfortable silence, which she felt was built on trust and respect, and perhaps something more. To him it was less than comforting, because he felt it was built on lies and deceit, and he was worried.

Before they arrived, Hermione said, "Remember, I do not wish to announce our engagement at the ball. I hope you are still agreeable to that."

He acted slightly reticent for a moment, and then he said, "Truly, if that is your wish, that is fine with me. We could go to Gretna Green tonight and marry, for all I care."

She laughed and said, "I am in no mood to go to Scotland, Lord Malfoy, and I never said it had to be a secret, or hushed. I merely want it to be a small affair. It is no one's business, but our own."

He nodded. The carriage stopped, and after the driver opened the door and pulled down the steps, he stepped down and turned to her. She stood in the doorway, and he placed his hands, with consummate privilege, on her waist, and lowered her slowly to the ground. He looked down at her; the way the moonlight danced in her eyes intoxicated him, and said, "You shall have your dream wedding, Hermione. I have not forgotten it. I promise, until you are ready, our engagement is between just us, and your friends."

She thanked him. He clasped her hand in his, and they walked to the end of the receiving line, to wait their turn to be announced. When they reached the first footman, Draco stated, "Lord Malfoy, accompanied by Miss Hermione Granger." He nodded and gave their names to the footman at the top of the stairs.

The lights were bright in the ballroom. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of candles suspended from the ceiling. Flowers adored every archway, and windowpane. All of the witches were in bright coloured gowns, with headpieces, feathers, flowers, or ribbons in their hair. The men had on black dress robes, of different styles, most of them in the Muggle tradition, only slightly altered.

Every single set of eyes looked up at the top of the stairs, as Hermione and her party approached. The footman introduced Harry Potter and Ginny first. Everyone smiled his or her approval. After all, Harry's reputation was renown in their world. People stared with equal admiration when next Ron and Hannah made their way in after being announced. Most of Ron's family, including Bill and his wife, had already arrived, so they stood below and watched them enter along with the rest of the crowd.

The next announcement was greeted with shocked gazes, slight gasps, and a low murmuring of disapproval, surprise, and astonishment, by not only the members of the community who attended, but by the two occupants on the stairs.

"His Lordship, Draco Malfoy, and his betrothed, Miss Hermione Granger," the footman announced. Hermione felt Draco's hand tighten over hers. She looked over at him in shock. He gave his head a slight shake, so that she would know that he had not betrayed her. She looked around the room, and as soon as she saw her stepmother's snide smile, she knew who was to fault for the announcement.

She hated crowds and attention as it was, but this was almost too much to bear. She felt every gaze, each stare, and each look of consternation. She looked over at Draco, who kept his stare in front of him. His head held high, in that haughty way he had, he started walking down the small set of stairs. When she faltered he turned, and offered a small smile, for her eyes only, to give her encouragement.

"Chin up, my dear love. You've shown more courage in the past facing a room full of Death Eaters," he said softly.

She leaned toward him and as they walked down the stairs, said, "The Death Eaters made their feelings toward me known. These people will undoubtedly say one thing, when they mean another."

"I always say what I mean," he whispered in her ear as they reached the bottom step. She gave him a look of disbelief. He continued to smile. "I think you are the most beautiful woman here, and I mean that deep in my heart."

"Lovely words, however you mean them, although I fear you are making false claims," she said back. "Just as you made false claims when you said that we did not have to announce our engagement tonight."

He frowned at her accusation, but before he could defend her allegation, Susan Bones, the hostess, walked over toward them on the arm of Percy Weasley. She smiled brightly at Hermione and curtsied toward Malfoy. "I am so pleased that you made your announcement at my ball tonight. Will you be having your own ball, soon?"

Hermione said "No," just as her stepmother came up behind her and said, "But of course. Lord Malfoy has already promised to throw my lovely stepdaughter the biggest ball members of the ton have ever seen!"

Hermione took a steady breath to calm her anger. Draco saw her apprehension and said, "We have changed our mind, Mrs. Granger. There will be no ball, and only a modest wedding, with a wedding breakfast to follow." He took Hermione's hand and led her toward the ballroom.

"Thank you, Lord Malfoy," Hermione said.

He sighed at the fact that she kept referring to him as 'Lord Malfoy' or 'Malfoy'. "You really should call me Draco, or some other form of endearment," he reminded her.

"When and if I feel comfortable with you, I shall," she said in clipped tones.

"You mean when you are no longer angry," he said in equally brusque tones.

She cocked her head to the side and said, "Perhaps."

"Your anger is misdirected, as usual," he said dryly, "and I am tired of it."

"My, oh my, Lord Malfoy is tired of it," she proclaimed mockingly.

He would not have a verbal sparing match with her in a ballroom full of people, most of whom were watching them, so he held his tongue. "You called me Draco during the war," he reminded.

"A lot of things occurred during the war, which I do not wish to repeat or remember," she said snidely.

Draco felt it was to be a very long evening, indeed.

Before she could accuse him of any more wrongdoing, he swept her into his arms, and began to dance the first, a waltz, which had just been announced in their honour, oddly enough. Surely, more of her stepmother's handiwork.

His hand was firm and possessive on the skin of her back, above her dress. His fingers skimmed the long tendrils of hair, which hung down from her upswept hair. His other hand enveloped her hand, and he held it as tightly as he could. He could tell she was aggravated, and he wanted to make it clear that he had nothing to do with the debacle that had just occurred.

She turned her head from his and he said, "Do I now have to endure your wrath, and defend my honour, over something that was in no way my fault. The blame for this lays utterly at the feet of your esteem stepmother, my lady. I am tired of apologizing for things that are not my fault, and out of my control. You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met."

Her chest felt constricted. She looked up into his eyes and said, "Why do you want to marry me if you do not love me."

Now he was angry. What did one thing have to do with another? He dropped her hand, and turned on his heel and walked out of the ballroom, heading toward places unknown. Luckily, Oliver Wood rescued her, before many people noticed, and finished the waltz, which Draco had begun.

After the first dance, she roamed the hallways of the massive house, looking for her betrothed. Even though anger still coursed through her veins, she knew he was not to blame. She understood that he had nothing to do with this. It was just easier to blame him than to blame her stepmother. She found that she often blamed him for things that were not really his fault. She was not sure why she did that, but she did.

Everyone was bound to find out they were to wed anyway, so what matter did it make? She only wanted to keep it a secret as long as she could, in case he came to his senses and decided that he had changed his mind, and no longer wanted to marry her.

After all, he had changed his mind about loving her once, or perhaps, he had never loved her. On their third meeting, before they were captured during the war, she told him that she loved him. Although he did not return her sentiments at that time, she thought that his heart was apparent, and that he returned her love. She was wrong, or if he had, he had changed his mind, because during their final meeting, when she was captured, he told the whole world that he did not love her.

She was afraid he would change his mind about her again.

* * *

_Third Meeting during the War:_

_Draco watched Hermione from his hiding place, near a small cave, all night and now into the morning. She and Potter had just gotten back from Godric's Hollow. They went to the graveyard, and then to some old woman's house. He could not follow them into the village, so he did not know what occurred there, but he knew that now that they were back, something was terribly wrong._

_He assumed that Potter took the first watch, during the night, because now that it was morning, she was on guard. However, just as before, she was outside of their wards. She was no longer concealed. He approached._

"_Hermione?" he said in a loud whisper._

_She turned quickly to face him. She was placing mushrooms in a pouch she made in the skirt of her dress. She dropped them and rushed to him. To his surprise and astonishment, she jumped into his arms. "Oh, Draco, it has all turned out so wrong!"_

"_What happened?"_

"_We fell into a trap," she said as she dropped back to her feet. He kept his arms around her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "We went to get information from an old lady, and it was a trap. Voldemort's snake was there. We fought it. I tried to rescue Harry, but in the process, his wand was destroyed. He blames me."  
_

_His hand went to her face and he leaned down slightly to look her square in the eye. "Are you hurt?"_

"_No," she said desperately, "but Harry's wand, it was destroyed. He blames me."_

"_He should not blame you. You probably saved his life," Draco said harshly. He looked around and said, "Things are becoming more intense. You must not say the Dark Lord's name again. He will be able to track you that way. Has Weasley returned?"_

_She shook her head in the negative._

"_There are groups of snatchers everywhere. You must be more careful. You need to go back to the tent. Do not venture out alone. I am not certain I can meet you again. I have been ordered to stay at my family's Manor, and I leave tonight." _

"_You shall not meet me again?" she asked._

"_I fear I cannot. It is too dangerous. I will not be responsible for you coming to harm," he promised. _

"_I understand. You come at a risk to yourself, do you not? I do not wish for you to come to harm either," she said back. She gripped his hand hard with her own._

"_Why is that?" he asked with a slight smile._

"_Oh, Draco, you must know." She let go of his hand. She turned away from him. He stood behind her. He was so close, that she could feel his breath on her cheek. She turned her head slightly and said, "I may love you."_

_He took two breaths, hard, protracted breaths, when she turned to face him. He shook his head and said, "Do not love me, my dear Granger. I have nothing to offer you."_

"_You cannot offer anything in return?" she asked. She felt like such a fool. Of course, he could not offer his love. They had only met three times now. She was romanticizing their meetings into something that they were not. He could not offer his love in return. She understood. Before he could answer she said, "I apologize for speaking so brashly and out of turn. It is the stress of the war. I do not wish you to make false claims to me, and I am sure that what I feel is just the result of a fondness for a friendly face during harsh times."_

"_No," he said. He did not want her to think that he did not return her sentiments, but he was not sure he could freely offer them unless he knew that they would have a future together._

_She said, "I must go."_

"_Wait!"_

"_Goodbye, Lord Malfoy. I hope we meet again!" She turned and ran away. He watched her go and barely knew what to think or do._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She knew she was wrong that time; therefore, he could not love her now. He did not offer words of love during that meeting, and during their last meeting, he proclaimed that he hated her. Why then, did he want to marry her? Was it from a sense of obligation, to seek retribution for harms done to her by his aunt? Alternatively, was it something more? When she first arrived to London, he acted as if he could not stand the sight of her, especially that night at the assembly. When had it all changed?

She thought the attention he showed her as the highwayman revealed his feelings for her, but if he truly was not the highwayman, then there was no reason to believe that he felt anything akin to love for her.

She would find out why he wanted to marry her if it was the last thing she did. She did not particularly want a love match, but also did not want a marriage because he pitied her, or felt sorry for his sins. Retribution was not a reason for marriage.

She walked out of the patio doors to find him. He was sitting on a round stone bench, surrounded by a group of statues, in the upper gardens. She walked closer to him before she called his name. She called him, "Draco?"

He turned his head. He stood. She called him by his name. He felt his anger seep away, just by the mention of his name.

She approached slowly, but stood along the fringe of the statues. She said, "I beg your pardon for my foul mood. I truly do not blame you for the announcement, and as far as the other thing goes, I merely want to know what could possibly entice you to marry me. Please, I must understand."

He looked up at the starless sky, laughed aloud, though he found no amusement in the situation. He threw his arms up in disgust and finally leveled his gaze upon her and said, "Why did you accept me? That is the question! Why do you wish to marry me? Do not act as if you have no options! I know that Potter could get my special license provoked if he so wanted. I know that the eldest Weasley could fight his mother-in-law's right to sign the marriage contract. He could be named your legal guardian. They could drag this out until you reach your maturity, and then you could refuse me yourself. Why are you marrying me, Madam?" He pointed his finger at her and stormed closer.

Say it! He willed her to say it! 'Say that you still love me,' he screamed in his head.

She looked at him with a mixture of confusion and anguish. She hardly knew how to express what she felt. Would marriage to him be a ghastly fate, or a reprieve? She could not tell him her intent if she could not articulate it. She knew that she still loved him, but nothing could inveigle her to say THAT to him. The emotions whirling through her were playing havoc with her mind.

He grabbed her hand. He pulled her closer. He thought she looked flushed and guarded. He said, "If you wish, you may rescind your acceptance, and I shall never hold it against you."

"What I want is for you to be frank with me, and divulge why you want to marry me. You need not tell another living soul, but you need to tell me," she begged.

"The moment you tell me why you accepted, is the moment I shall tell you why I asked. If we are both as stubborn as I fear, we shall enter this marriage with neither of us ever knowing the intentions of the other," he said truthfully. He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed her open palm. He closed his eyes, an ache developing behind them. He was so tired of all of this. What was the cost of his love? Would she ever know? He felt his whole life hinged on this moment.

She closed her eyes as well, and leaned forward. He held her in his arms. "I shall marry you, but my reasons are my own," she finally said.

It would have to be enough for now. He sighed and said, "You make me tired, Madam."

She laughed and pushed away from him and said, "You do nothing to restore my energy, either, my Lord."

"Shall we go back and dally in the ballroom with the other interesting people?" he said with a mocked expression.

"Dare I make a better suggestion?" she asked.

He looked amused and said, "Suggest away."

"Shall we take a nightly stroll around the gardens?" she asked.

"Without a chaperone?" he asked. "You are scandalous, my love."

"I am not your love, and there is nothing scandalous about two betrothed people taking a harmless walk around a garden," she said playfully.

"I shall accept your offer; however, if I proclaim that you are my love, you have no right to deny it." He added in his mind, 'Even if neither of us will admit it.' "I shall first go get us some refreshment. Will you wait for me here?" he asked.

"Where else would I be?" she asked, in an engaging tone.

He smiled and leaned forward. He said, "Are you flirting with me?"

"I would hardly know," she said in a feigned voice.

"You are!" he said. He pointed at the bench and said, "Wait for me right on that bench. I shalln't be long." He walked back toward the patio doors that headed toward the ballroom. He walked along the perimeter of the room, toward the refreshment table.

Hermione sat on the circular bench, and straightened her skirts. She looked upwards, and then out toward the gardens. She began to look at the faces of all of the statues around her. She smiled. This marriage would not be a bad thing. She would enjoy being married to him. They did not have to proclaim their love to have a successful marriage. She stood to examine one of the statues closer. As soon as she stood, she heard a loud crash, and even felt wind and rubble against her skirts. She turned just as quickly toward the noise, screamed in the same instant, as she saw first one of the large statues fall toward the bench, before a second one followed, both smashing the stone bench where she had just sat, right in two.

People began to run from the ballroom, some having heard the loud crash, others having heard her scream. Draco was nowhere near the doorway, but he saw everyone running toward the doors. He stopped a man and said, "What happened?"

"Something happened out on the patio!" the man said. "A woman screamed."

Draco dropped the glasses from his hands and ran along with the horde. He reached the patio in time to see Hermione in the arms of Harry Potter, the bench where he had left her split in two, and not one, but two of the statues from around the circle smashed to the ground.

* * *

_A/N: I am uber busy at work, because I am up for a promotion of sorts, and it appears I have much to prove to my bosses, so I have hardly had any time off, so I am only two chapters ahead on this. I am sorry. I know I used to post so much faster, but I have to admit, some of the joy of writing has left me anyway, sad...but true. I will finish though. Do you all like the cliffhangers? Wouldn't it be 'dastardly' of me to end the whole story...right...there? HA!!!_


	15. Chapter 15

**All characters belong to JKR**

**_23, April 1813, Draco explains her accident:_**

_"**Do you really not recall your accident?" he asked.**_

_"**No," she said, her face full of worry.**_

_"**Do you recall any of the other accidents?" **_

**_She thought for a moment and then said, "I recall the incident at the Bones' ball, before we wed. I recall a carriage accident after we married, a fire, wait…I thought it was established that the highwayman committed at least two of these accidents." She sat upright and looked afraid. She placed her hand out in front of her, almost to ward him away. "But you ARE the highwayman. I recall discovering that. I found the book, and you just admitted as much. I also read your confession! Why would you try to hurt me?"_**

**_He sprang from the blanket, shot to his feet, and stared down at her. "First, I would never hurt you! I am the highwayman, but I did not cause any of your accidents, although to call them accidents would be a travesty. Each attempt was deliberate, I am certain. Now go back to what you were saying. What confession?"_ **

* * *

**Chapter 15: 18, July 1812, After the Ball: **

Hermione sat alone in the Library at Grimmauld place, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation that was taking place in the hallway just beyond the doors. In the hallway, Draco paced, as Harry and Ron stood by the door in the foyer, speaking with two Aurors. The Aurors were called to the scene at the ball when several witnesses claimed to have seen a man leaving the gardens as Hermione screamed.

Hearing her scream was the worst thing that he could ever imagine hearing. He had heard it once before, over and over and over again, and he had, had so many night terrors over the years, recalling that scream.

During the war, she was tortured almost to the point of death, and her screams pierced through him that day, just as they had tonight.

* * *

_Last meeting during the War:_

_Draco had been back at the Manor for weeks, upon endless weeks, and the tension that was in the air, due to the presence of the Dark Lord, and his Death Eaters, was about to choke him alive, as was his worry for Hermione. He did not know where she was, if she was safe, or if they had found all of the Horcruxes. The uncertainly was about to eat him alive._

_The Dark Lord had left only a few days before, leaving his Aunt Bellatrix in command. She was as dangerous as the Dark Lord was, perhaps even more so, because she continued to push Draco into the limelight, a place he would prefer never to be._

_He was concerned for Hermione. He had lost all contact with her almost a month ago. He knew he was brooding over the fact, and it did not help that he continued to have to shield his thoughts whenever his Aunt or Father was around, because he was afraid they would read his betrayal, and they would know that he was in love with their enemy._

_Because he was. He loved Hermione Granger. He hoped against hope that she, Potter and Weasley succeeded, and this war would end, and he might be able to tell her as much._

_His mother approached him as he was in the garden that day, and she caught him unaware. "Draco, what is wrong?" she asked._

_He turned, startled. "Mother, I did not hear you approach."_

"_Son, why are you so irritated and upset? Are you worried about the outcome of the war?" she asked._

_How could he tell her the truth? Yes, he was worried, but not for the reasons she assumed. He said, "Mother, I just want it to end." That statement was true._

"_Draco, you know that I would never impede upon your thoughts, but you must guard them closer," she advised, urgency lacing each word._

"_Whatever do you mean, Mother?" he asked back with suspicion._

_His aunt walked outside behind him and said, "Because, Draco dear, I have sensed lately that your thoughts are going toward a certain little Mudblood, and your mother has sensed the very same thing. I can see that she is clearly in the forefront of your thoughts."_

_Draco was about to deny it, but before he could, she continued, "I know you hate her, because she stands for everything that we fight so hard for, so you are naturally thinking of her lately. However, I have good news. My sources tell me that the snatchers may have captured all three of the golden trio. They are being brought into the Manor at this very moment. Come, join the fun. Your aunt may even leave the Mudblood for you to torture. Does that not sound enjoyable?"_

_He nodded and tried to smile, the whole time his heart beating loudly, a knot stuck in his throat, and a taste of bile rising upward. He wanted to throttle the crazy woman with his bare hands._

_His aunt cackled and ran into the house. His mother touched his arm and said, "Draco, please, do not reveal anything, no matter what happens."_

"_Mother?" he asked. "What do you think I would reveal?"_

"_That you love her," she stated. It was not a question._

_He almost broke down, and in fact, he whispered, "Oh, Mother, I do. I love her."_

_His aunt was still in the garden, eavesdropping, and she heard his every word. She screeched again, and he turned, fear in his eyes. No, what had he just confessed? What would happen now?_

"_Draco," his mother warned. "No."_

"_Now this will be even more fun," his aunt said. She hurried inside. Draco tried to run after her, but his mother caught his arm._

"_Deny it, son, and your aunt may let her live. No matter what occurs, no matter what she does to the girl, deny it, even if you have to shout it from the highest rooftop. Tell everyone that you hate her. Make even the girl believe it, or otherwise, Son, she will die here today."_

_He ran into the house to find his aunt and father in the drawing room with a group of people. They were trying to figure out if the snatchers and the werewolf had captured the right three people. His aunt turned to him and said, "Draco, is this them? You would know, after all, you love her, right. You would know the woman you love. Were you not just telling us all about them, out in the garden, just now?"_

_Hermione looked at him in shock. Had he betrayed them? Had he told them where to find them? He stared back, and then said, "I do not know to what you are referring, and I am equally in the dark as to whether or not these three are the three you seek, but they might be."_

"_Come now, boy," Bellatrix said. "Are you seriously telling us that you are not certain that this is the Mudblood Granger, and that they other two are not Potter and Weasley? You must know."_

"_I do not recall what they look like," he said. He knew that his father and aunt could see through his lies._

_However, his father quickly exclaimed, "I know it is them, Bellatrix. Leave my boy alone. He has done enough for the cause. He has been an exemplarily Death Eater. He had always done everything we have asked of him."_

_Hermione looked as if those very words shattered her fragile heart. However, he put up his strongest mind shields, so his aunt could not read his concern._

_Everything that happened after that was a blur. Potter and Weasley were rushed to the dungeons. Bellatrix began to torture Hermione in front of him, using the Crucio curse. _

_Her screams were endless. Each scream cut him to ribbons. However, it was what she said at the last that almost killed him. As she lay on the ground, still withering in pain, though the curse was no longer in place, she looked up at him and said, "I thought you loved me."_

_Bellatrix smiled and said, "Do you love her, Draco?"_

_Draco swallowed the foul bile that rose in his throat and said, "I hate the Mudblood. I only led her to believe that to further the cause. Kill her if you want. I could hardly care less." Then he stormed from the room, out of view, and vomited on the marble floor of the foyer. His aunt laughed louder._

"_Well, since my nephew has not soiled himself after all, loving a Mudblood…what was I thinking? I should have known it was just a ruse. I will let her live after all. You can have her, Fenrir." She told the werewolf._

_Draco felt his heart was breaking at those words._

_That was when Draco began to hear her scream again. It was too much. _

* * *

He heard that scream again tonight, and every bad memory about that fateful night at the Manor came rushing back to him, especially when he ran out to the patio, and saw her in another man's arms. He could not protect her that night, and he could not protect her tonight. He revealed he loved her to his mother that night, which was overheard by his aunt, and that was why she tortured Hermione. That was why he vowed he would never tell another living soul of his love for her again, less it hurt her again. He would not even reveal it to her, however, that did not mean that he did not feel it.

He loved her. He loved her and his love had almost killed her. It had almost killed her before, and he was afraid it was being repeated. Had someone found out that he was the highwayman and therefore using that knowledge against him by harming her? He had more enemies than he could count, and the thought that one of them might hurt her to hurt him caused him more than anguish, it caused him the greatest anger he had ever felt in his life, and he would not have it. He would stop it.

Though he had tried to apologize to her that night, as she lay on the floor of the dungeons, alone, afraid, and in pain, she would not hear his words. He pleaded with her to understand. He said he was sorry countless times, yet she said only one sentence back to him. She looked him in the eye, and said, "I hate you. You are the worst sort of coward. I shall never believe another word you ever say. You are not sorry. Men like you are never sorry. You betrayed me. You betrayed my love."

He remembered every word. He repeated them in his brain constantly over the last two years. She called him a coward. She told him that she hated him, and he did not blame her in the least.

Did she hate him now? She said that she would never believe another word he said, yet she believed him when he LIED and told her that he was not the highwayman. Draco felt doomed.

Oddly enough, the Bones' house was also robbed during the party. Several expensive paintings, a silver tea set, and a vase were taken. None of the things once belonged to the Malfoys…not that Draco thought the person who took these things was the same as the one responsible for the other string of robberies. After all, that man was he. Whoever stole the items tonight, and whoever charmed the statues to fall, was not him! He may have lied to Hermione when he said he was not the highwayman, however, he knew it was a lie! He was the highwayman, and he had not robbed anyone tonight, nor had he tried to harm Hermione!

Although, Hermione might think it suspicious that he asked her to remain on the circular bench, and then the statues fell just moments afterward.

He started toward the Library just as Potter closed the door to the front of the house. "Where are you going, Malfoy?"

"To see Hermione," he answered with a frown.

"She will remain here tonight, but she is still shaken, so I think it best that she is left alone," Harry dictated.

"Potter, with due respect, or without it, since I do not remotely respect you in the least, she is my intended, and I shall see her," he ordered.

"Harry," Hermione said from the Library, "Let him in."

Draco frowned as he brushed past Harry, into the familiar Library of Grimmauld Place. He wanted to take her hands, but Harry was still standing there, guarding the door, so Draco placed his hands behind his back and said, "Are you hurt at all?"

"Not at all, although, the first statue fell so closely to me that I felt the winds from the fall brush my skirts, and when I turned, the second one fell directly on the bench, breaking the stone in two. If I had remained on the bench, I might have died." That fact had already been in the front of Draco's mind, but apparently, she had not thought about it until she said it, (although Draco was painfully aware of it) because she repeated, "I might have died. Do you think it was a deliberate attack against me?"

Draco started to shake his head no, when Bill Weasley stepped into the room. He said, "That is a valid observation."

"Whatever do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Hermione, a man matching the description of the highwayman was seen rushing from the Bones' house tonight. Several expensive things were pilfered. What if the rogue saw you sitting there, and was afraid that you knew too much about him, or was afraid that you might be able identify him?"

"Did the Aurors assume that?" Harry asked.

Bill nodded and confirmed with, "They said that the statues were spelled to fall. One can only assume it was directed toward her. Coincidence does not play in this scenario."

Harry took her hand and said, "If you are in danger, either from the highwayman, or perhaps from a rogue Death Eater, that means that you must be protected. You must come and stay here until your wedding. I will watch out for you."

Bill shook his head. "I disagree; she will be safe at my home. I will protect her."

"I need no protection. I am sure that the highwayman was not responsible for the statues falling." Hermione was adamant, but she could not tell them why she was certain that he would not hurt her. Even though their last meeting was unpleasant, their earlier meetings were not lies. He cared for her, in his own way, and she for him, and he would never harm her. On that, she was certain.

"Hermione," Draco said, pulling her hand from Harry's hand. He stood in front of her and said, "Do you think that you can identify the highwayman? Do you think he would endanger your life because of it?" He had to be sure.

She looked at Draco intently, and then said, "Why would he think that I could identify him? I only saw him that one time, when he burned the carriage." She said each word slowly, precisely, hating that she was lying to the three men in front of her.

Bill so trusted…more like a big brother, than a mere stepbrother-in-law.

Harry so sweet and loving…she had never lied to him a day in her life, but he must never know that she had met the highwayman a series of time, once in this very room.

Lastly, Draco…she had accused him, wrongly, of being the highwayman, but he assured her that he was not. She had once accused him of something even more heinous, and she was wrong on that account as well. She would never make that mistake again. She would never falsely accuse him of anything.

Furthermore, how could she ever tell the man that she was to marry that she almost fell in love with another? What would he think of her if he knew that she had met the rake several times and almost professed her love to him?

She looked back at Draco and said, "My Lord, what are your thoughts on the subject?"

His thoughts were dark, tangled, and twisted. He knew that she had just lied to protect 'him' to her friends, and in an odd sense, he was jealous, because it meant that she still had feeling for the highwayman, even though he had treated her abominably the last time they had met, but more than that basic emotion, he felt a more primeval one. Fear. Someone out there was trying to hurt, perhaps kill, Hermione Granger, and that someone wanted to pin the crime on the highwayman.

He said, "My thoughts are that your brother-in-law is right. You are in danger. We will move up the wedding. I shall protect you."

So it was agreed. Before Bill left for the night, the wedding, which had not even been formally announced, let alone had a date set, was planned for ten days from that night. Bill told Draco that he should put the announcement in tomorrow's Daily Prophet. Ginny said that the next day she would shop with Fleur for Hermione's trousseau. The day after, Fleur announced, her wedding gown would be made, and so it went.

It was after midnight, Hermione was tired and weary from the events of the Ball, and she sat on the stairs in the foyer of Grimmauld place, listening to Bill, Harry, Fleur, and Ginny decide her future, and she had one but two thoughts: First, did the highwayman have a reason for trying to kill her? Second, who was getting married after all? Was it the four people in the front parlor, or she and Draco?

Ron walked into the house, after having just brought her trunks and belongings from Shell Cottage to Harry's house, and he joined them in the front parlor. He had not even noticed her sitting on the stairs. Everyone had decided she would stay here until the wedding. They decided. Everyone, but her. Her life was twirling out of control.

Fleur would decide her flowers. Ginny said she would pick the dress, because rose was such a pretty colour on Hermione. Harry said the wedding would take place at Grimmauld Place. Ron insisted on hosting the wedding breakfast. Bill said he would give her away. Apparently, it was out of her hands.

She was not even sure why she was bothering with eavesdropping. She stood from her place on the stairs and started walking up them, when she heard her name.

"Hermione?"

She sat back down, in the middle of the staircase. Draco walked up slowly. "Have they decided what we should name our firstborn, yet?" she asked him as he approached.

Draco smiled at her sarcasm, and said, "Potter seems to favour the name 'Scarhead', but Weasley said we shouldn't rule out the name, 'Ginger'."

She tried to hide her smile. He sat down beside her, and took her hand without permission. "Do you recall your promise?" she asked.

He shrugged and said, "I make so many to you, that I can scarcely keep them all straight. Remind me of my promise, sweet one."

"My dream wedding. Do you recall?"

He took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled it slowly out his mouth. "I did promise, did I not? Is Scotland beginning to look better to you?"

She smiled, but she did not mean it. She said, "I miss my mother and father. I cannot believe I shall be married without them. Also, I do not want to wear rose on my wedding day."

He grinned again, and clutched her hand to his chest. He wondered if she could hear his beating heart. "Green. You should wear green. Not the dark green you had on tonight, but a warm, light green. I will wear red, in honour of your favourite colour. We will get married at my country estate. You have never been there, and it is lovely this time of year. It is called Grey's Hall. There is a lovely park, near the lake, with a tall grove of trees nearby. I recall that you wanted a canopy of trees."

"We will have the wedding breakfast outside, in the rose garden, or perhaps, if it rains, in the formal dining room. I shall plant you a rose bush, in honour of our marriage, but not a rose coloured rose bush, since you are so opposed to the colour. A green rose bush."

She was in awe that he had remembered her dream wedding. She laughed and asked, "Green roses?"

"Fine, red roses, for love," he said, without thought.

"Love?" she asked. Did he love her?

She was going to ask him that question, because she desperately needed to know, and she was not sure she could wait for him to profess it, but before she could ask, he said, "Red roses stand for love, is that not correct?" He had to recover quickly. He almost slipped and told her he loved her, though he vowed that he would not utter it before she confirmed it to him first.

"Yes, they do," she said softly.

Bill stood in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. He coughed to let them know he was there. They both looked up at the same time, and Bill said, "I shall inform the masses of the new wedding plans. I think they sound lovely, more than what we could imagine."

Hermione stood up quickly, ran down the stairs, and flung her arms around Bill's neck. She said, "If only you were my family, for real."

He held her tightly and said, "If only." Draco stood and walked toward the pair. He touched Hermione's back, and she turned back to her fiancé.

Bill left the hallway to tell the others of Draco and Hermione's plans. Draco slipped his fingertips lightly down her arm and said, "I will now be your family."

"If only," she said.

He raised his eyebrows in question. He said, "If only?"

She stared at him for a long time, leaned forward, kissed his cheek softly, and said, "If only it was that easy, Draco." She ran up the stairs.

His eyes followed her until she was gone, and then he said aloud, "If only it was, and at least you finally called me Draco."


	16. Chapter 16

**All characters belong to JKR**

**_23, April 1813, Draco and Hermione after their talk:_**

**_He left her outside, walked into her bedchamber, over to her bureau, and opened the bottom drawer. He took out an envelope, as she instructed. When he walked back outside toward her, he held it up and she said, "Yes, that is the confession from the highwayman."_**

**_He would worry about the confession another time. He tucked it inside his pocket. He walked back to her, sat down on the blanket, and then told her the sordid details of her most recent accident. She could not believe what he had told her. His free hand came to rest on her shoulder. He asked, "Do you want to go inside?"_**

_"**No, I want to find out why this is happening to me," she said. "We both know that the highwayman is not to blame for my accidents."**_

_"**Yes, that much we know," he whispered. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Do you know what else we know?"**_

_"**What?"**_

_"**We know that we love each other."**_

_"**Do tell, Lord Malfoy," she said, without a trace of humour.**_

_"**Please, call me husband. It matters greatly to me," he said.**_

_"**Perhaps that is why I cannot do so, not until we find out why these things are occurring," she reasoned. **_

**_He stood up and said in anger, "Fine, I no longer want you to call me husband. I no longer want to call you wife!"_**

_"_**_Why must you lie again, Husband?" she asked._**

* * *

**Chapter 16: 28, July 1812, A Wedding: **

The day of Hermione's wedding stretched before her as she sat in her bedchamber at Grimmauld Place. Having already donned her pale green gown, (a present from her intended) and having already had her hair perfectly styled, (thanks to Gabby's maid, Marie), she had nothing more to do _but _to sit around and ponder her wedding and her fate. Therefore, that was what she did.

She sat in a chair in the corner, contemplating her childhood, her parents, and mostly, her upcoming marriage to Lord Malfoy.

She felt no small amount of trepidation. She knew that was a common feeling for a young lady on her wedding day. She wondered what the day would hold. She wondered what the future would hold. She really wondered what he would expect from her tonight, on their wedding night. He told her he would wait for the marriage bed, but would he uphold that pledge? Did she want him to uphold that promise? She closed her eyes at the contemplation of sharing a wedding night with him. She opened them quickly, embarrassed at her own thoughts. She stood up and moved to the window. It was raining slightly and they were to marry outside. Rain on a wedding day was supposed to be lucky. It held promise for a happy union. She placed her forehead on the cold windowpane and closed her eyes again. Was she making a monumental mistake, or the best decision of her life?

She longed for the type of marriage and companionship that other couples of her acquaintance had. Everyone around her was in true love matches: Harry & Ginny, Bill & Fleur, Ron & Hannah. Even her mother and father, though their marriage was arranged, were incredibly in love when they were both alive.

Love. Was it the most important ingredient to a successful marriage? Had not Lord Malfoy asked her that very thing shortly after she found out they were to wed. Was not affection and companionship equally important? Did she not once tell him that she wanted to marry her friend first, and that love would come in second? Of course, those were the odd ramblings of a young girl who was not yet in love. Now that she was in love, she knew that it was indeed important. Before, she knew nothing of the heart. She only thought of love as something abstract. She felt love from her mind. Now she knew love was tangible, and she felt it from her heart.

She loved him. Should she not tell him so? Surely, he must care for her. She suspected that he always had, no matter what he had said that terrible day at Malfoy Manor.

Love was important, as was romance and passion. Desire was important as well. Unbridle longing, craving, yearning for the person who held your very heart…that was the key to a successful marriage and THAT was what Hermione wanted, and THAT was what she was afraid she might not have if she married Lord Malfoy, because he seemed quite impassionate and cold at time, at least in her experience with the man.

Except…sometimes when he would reach out and stroke her hand, she felt a fluttering in her heart. Sometimes when he smiled at her, she felt her stomach flip inside her. When he would rub his thumb over her palm, or his fingertips ran down her cheek, he did so without conscious thought, but with passionate intent. Sometimes, his lips would touch her hand, and her heart would melt. She felt passion and love for the man, and she knew that even if he never admitted that he felt the same things for her, that he did, or at least, someday he would. She would be happy with Draco. He would be happy with her, and someday he would love her. At least, she hoped so.

In two hours, she would be his bride. She would be a wife. Forever. She had never really wanted to be a wife, but she did desperately want to be part of a family again, and she suspected that Draco wanted the same thing. It was a place to start. She packed away the rest of her belongings, and then she walked downstairs, to await her future.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco dressed with the utmost care that morning. He was aware of everything that morning, more so than usual. He was aware of the way the clouds threatened to ruin the perfect wedding day he had envisioned for her. He was aware of the way his breathing quickened when he thought of Hermione in her wedding gown, and of the way his groin ached when he thought of her out of it. He was aware of the way his lips tingled in anticipation of kissing her after the ceremony. He was aware of the fact that Grey's Hall had not had anyone live in it for so long, that it had a musky smell about it, and he was slightly embarrassed by that fact, and that would never do for his new wife.

He was going to have a wife. Hermione Granger was finally going to be his wife. Why had he not thought of that before? He had wasted so much time. He should have pursued her more intently after the war, when her mother died. He wasted time acting as if he hated her, as if he was angry with her, even right after she came back to London, a few weeks ago, because of his own guilt. He was a fool. At least he finally rectified things.

Thank heavens she was in that carriage the night he appeared as the highwayman. If she had not been, he might not have even given her a second thought.

He was aware that, that statement was a lie. He always thought of her. There was barely a day that went by in the last two years when he had not thought of her.

He was aware that he was nervous, and he was aware that Malfoys were never nervous. Whether his nerves were the direct result of his upcoming nuptials, of the upcoming wedding night, or merely the fact that he was finally marrying the women he loved, he hardly knew and hardly cared.

He loved her. He was more aware of that fact than anything else that day. He would tell her someday. He would tell her when the time was right. He would tell her when he was certain that she loved him again, and when he was certain that his love would not cause her pain. He was aware that there might be a new danger to her, as evidence of the falling statues at the Bones' ball two weeks ago. He was aware that incident might be because he had more enemies than he could count; therefore, he _could not_, and _would not_ admit his love openly. Not yet.

He walked out of his rooms, and into the room that he had prepared for her. An adjoining door connected the two. Would she let him use it tonight? He had promised her that he would not force her until she was ready. Why had he made such a foolish pledge? He prayed that she would be ready tonight. He had been ready for two years. He would be ready for her forever.

He did love her. More than he cared to admit. He loved her more than he cared to wish and more than he dared to hope that she loved him in return. It dawned on him that perhaps he should tell her. Even if she no longer loved him, she must at least have some fondness, and genuine feelings, for him, which were unique, or else she would not be marrying him. She was no weakling. She was a woman with her own mind, which he found vexing and exhilarating, as much as that was a paradox. She was an honest woman, and she would never marry him if she did not care for him.

Honesty…it was important to her. It always had been. It was something Draco always took granted. He would someday have to be honest with her, about everything. He would have to tell her that he was the highwayman. He would have to tell her that he promised away her inheritance, to her stepmother, in order to marry her. Most of all, he would have to tell her that he loved her and that he always had. That would be the hardest truth of all. It had almost cost her, her life once. When he lied that day, her life was saved.

He had erected too many walls around him, built on lies, and he knew someday these walls would tumble down around him. Then there would be no hope for him unless, when he climbed from the ruins of this debacle, she would be waiting for him on the other side. If anyone could break through the wall of lies, it would be her.

He had to be sure that she would not leave him again. Right after the final battle, the Battle of Hogwarts, there was much confusion. He tried to talk to her again, right after the battle, just as he had tried to talk to her down in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor after she was tortured, so he could explain to her that he loved her, and that he had not betrayed her, but she would not listen. She would not even speak with him.

The only people who could vouch that Draco had been working as a spy for the Order were both dead…Snape and Lupin. Luckily, Lupin had left behind some papers explaining things, but they were not discovered until months later. When Draco was finally released from prison, after a short stay, Hermione had already fled to France. He felt it was a direct slap in his face. He felt as if she had run away from him. Her father and mother had gone there during the war, and her mother died there shortly after they arrived.

He wrote to her while she was in France, to try to explain what had happened. He told her that he had never betrayed her to his father and aunt. He told her that he worked both sides during the war, at great peril to himself. He told her that the only lie he had told her during the war was when he denied that he loved her to his aunt. He also, regrettably, told her that she was a coward to have run away to France, and that she should come back to England and face him. That once sentence, that once ounce of pride that he showed, probably cost him two years of her companionship.

Because she did write back, but only once, and the missive contained one sentence. It said, _"You are the coward, Sir, and you are definitely the liar, and I never want to hear from you again. Do not contact me ever again. I will never believe anything you have to say. I am only sorry that I stated feelings for you that I now know were false. Leave me be."_

She did not even sign her name, nor did she use his. She ran away, told him that he was a coward, and a liar, and that she was sorry that she had once proclaimed her love for him.

At least after she consented to marriage, she promised that she would never run away from him again, that was a consolation , for he knew that she was a woman of her word.

Draco walked out of her bedchamber, after straightening the pillows on the bed, to see that his butler was approaching. "Your guests have arrived, Sir."

Draco merely nodded. It was his wedding day, and she had come. It was a good day after all.

Their friends gathered around them, under the canopy of trees, to the left of the large house, and to the right of a small lake. She placed her gloved hand in his. She thought he looked remarkably handsome. He looked every bit a bridegroom. He had on fawn coloured breeches, no hat, which she found surprising, and true to his words, a burgundy-red jacket. She smiled at him and he finally smiled back.

He grasped her hand and looked at her from the top of her perfectly coiffed hair, which was covered with ribbons and lace, but thankfully, no hat, down to her toes, which were covered in satin lace slippers. He had sent over her pale green dress two days ago, and he knew she would look every bit the beautiful bride that in fact, she did look.

The panic that she felt earlier had dissipated and she felt nothing but peace. She trusted him suddenly, which she found odd, but she did. She fixed her eyes on her groom even as the officiate began to recite their vows. She heard nary a word. She felt the breeze on her cheek, she felt a raindrop on her arm, she felt his fingers curl around hers, she heard a bird caw in the distance, she heard someone cough, but her eyes never left his, and she heard not a single word the officiate said.

Draco hardly cared that there was more people here than he had expected, and that the majority of them was for her support, and not his. He was only aware of one thing…unlike the multitude of things in which he was aware of previously. He was aware of his bride, and her beauty, and her goodness, and the fact that he would never be good enough for her, but he would deem to try to be. He felt a wave a happiness surge through him, and he scarcely knew what to do with it, for it was such a foreign feeling, and one he did not feel he deserved.

She was struck by how tall and handsome he was. His eyes were silver/grey. She wondered if they were similar to the highwayman's eyes after all, now that she really thought on it. He had many faults, some of which she could cure, but one could never fault him for being ugly. She suddenly felt small for thinking such shallow thoughts. Perhaps he was rubbing off on her. She smiled at that thought.

He felt a softening of his heart just looking upon her delicate features, and at the smile that graced her face. He had the undeniable urge to kiss her, though the blasted clergyman was still talking. He wondered what they would talk about after everyone left today. He knew that was a strange thought, but still, he wondered. Would the conversation be forced, and strained, or would it wander aimlessly, easily, as per usual when they were together.

She wondered if she could make him happy. She wondered if she could make him love her.

He wondered if he would ever be able to tell her the truth. He wondered if he would ever be good enough for her.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife, by all the laws and creeds of the Wizarding world. This bond shall not be broken. You may kiss your bride."

He leaned forward first, and as he did, a gush of wind blew her ribbons forward, and he placed his hand in her hair, and brushed them down. The first large raindrop fell as she leaned toward him, and he placed his lips upon hers. The kiss was brief and fleeting, but it _was not_ a preview of things to come, if Draco had a say in the matter. He grabbed her hand, and just as a cloud overhead broke loose with rain, they ran toward Grey's Hall, their guests on their heels.

As everyone ran ahead, through a side door, which would lead to the main hall, toward the large dining room, where they would partake in the wedding breakfast, Draco kept Hermione's hand in his and pulled her to the side, down a small hallway, and into a room off the same hall.

He opened the door, and slipped inside, her hand still in his. He shut the door, pushed her against the wall, and with his hands framing her face, he said, "My wife. That is what I shall now call you. You are my wife, Hermione."

She smiled a true and happy smile. He dipped his head, and placed an opened mouth kiss on her lips. His tongue darted out to caress her lips, and she slipped her arms around his waist, and his left her face, to round her arms, to hold her tight.

They felt a mutual desire and longing, a throbbing, a wanting, a deep underlying, understated attraction, which neither could deny. She shuddered slightly, as his mouth left hers, to travel across her cheek, down to her throat. She wanted to say that she loved him at that moment, more than she wanted anything, but instead, she said, "Our guests are waiting, Husband."

He lifted his head, delighted that she had finally called him something more endearing than 'Lord Malfoy' or merely 'Malfoy'. He lowered his head once more, kissed the base of her throat, her jaw, her cheek, then her right eye, before placing one more on her mouth. He sighed as he placed his forehead on her shoulder. "If we must, Wife."

"We must."

"Then come." He opened the door, straightened his jacket, smoothed her hair for her, and then let his fingertips trail lightly down her face. She felt a familiar fluttering. Marriage to him would be fine.

They walked hand in hand to the dining room, to participate in their wedding breakfast.

* * *

_Thank you so much to everyone who is reading, reviewing, and offering me their support and kind words of encouragment to continue this story. It means so very much and each and every person deserves a thank you!! I will try to add more romance. I just wrote chapter 19 and it has more romance. In fact, now that they are married, they will fall back in love...of course, I will also have something happen to threaten that love, but we already know that from the snippets in the beginning of each chapter, right? But I only do happy endings, so never fear. Thanks again!!!!_


	17. Chapter 17

**All characters belong to JKR**

**_24, April 1813, The Next Day:_**

**_Taking her tea in the rose parlor, Hermione dropped her spoon when she heard a noise outside in the hallway._**

_"**I must see her!"**_

_"**My master says she is not to be disturbed," the butler barked.**_

**_Hermione strained to hear the other voice. It sounded familiar. It was a woman. "I have to see her now! I heard she is out of her sick bed!"_**

**_Hermione stood, though she was still weak, made her way to the open doorway, and peered into the hallway, toward the foyer. "Who is out there, Ewing?" she asked._**

**_Suddenly, a woman Hermione had not seen for over eight months came running around the butler, straight toward Hermione, with a wild look in her eyes. Hermione felt slightly alarmed, especially when the woman ran into the parlor and grasped her arms. Hermione looked at the butler and said, "Go find my husband!"_**

* * *

**Chapter 17: 28, July 1812, A Wedding Breakfast and Beyond: **

Draco never understood the silly tradition of a wedding breakfast. At least he was seated next to his wife. It was his understanding that this might be the only formal meal where they would be seated next to each other. He felt that seating a husband far from his wife at formal dinners was a silly tradition, unless one hated one's wife.

He did not hate his wife. He loved her. He loved her very much.

He looked over at her. She had barely eaten a thing. He said, "Is the roast duck not to your liking?"

"It is fine," she said formally.

"Ah, fine, fine," he mocked. He knocked his elbow into hers and said, "What is your favorite food?"

"It hardly matters at this point, does it?" she said, nervously, pushing her food around on her plate.

Draco frowned and said, "What is wrong?"

"I wish this was over," she said. She dropped her fork and placed her hands on her lap.

He frowned more and said, "But our marriage just began."

She looked at him oddly, then odder still, then she smiled just a bit, then more, and then she laughed. She garnered a few stares from around the table. Draco frowned, the biggest frown he had ever frowned, and she said, "I do not wish for our marriage to end only an hour after it began, husband. Oh my, that would do no good." She laughed more. She had been nervous about being MARRIED and about being ALONE with him after everyone left. The truth was, she was afraid about the wedding night, because she had decided that she would not dodge tradition, and that she _would_ sleep with him tonight, but to do so, everyone had to leave first, which meant the silly wedding breakfast had to be over and done!

Nevertheless, how could she explain that to him without appearing every bit a ninny? Or a silly woman? Or perhaps a tart? So she laughed some more.

Draco finally smiled. He was smart. He said, "Do you mean that you wish for our company to depart?"

She nodded, laughter still on the fringe of her expression. "Yes, but your assumption was a fine one. At least you made my nerves go away for a moment. You made me laugh."

"That is my wedding present to you," he said. "I hope you liked it."

"I do, thank you. I have not shared a laugh with anyone for a very long time. Not since before my father died." She suddenly looked a bit sad again. She looked back at her lap. Her hands were still gathered in her skirts.

He reached over, and placed both her hands in one of his. He leaned toward her and said, "Remember, I am your family now. I shall endeavor to take care of you the way your father always did. I shall try to make you feel safe." He realized that was a tall order, and that it might be a difficult promise to keep, but he would try. "It is my duty as a husband."

"And what is my duty as a wife?" she asked, with another smile.

"To bear him many heirs," her stepmother interjected.

Hermione's face became red with embarrassment. She looked at the woman, shocked, but before anyone could say anything, Draco said, "Your only duty is to make me smile, and you shall do that every time a smile graces your beautiful face."

"Hear, Hear!" Ron shouted. "A toast to the happy couple!" Everyone raised their wine glasses, including the newlyweds.

Draco took a sip of his wine, the whole time his gaze never leaving Hermione's face. He wondered what she was really thinking. Was she worried about tonight? He knew she was a virgin, so of course she was worried, so he must be sure to reassure her that he would never hurt her. He would be patient, go slow, offer guidance, and help her not to be self-conscious or embarrassed. She was reserved when it came to showing her feelings, except during the war, when she showed them freely. Maybe, perhaps, she was only reserved with them now, or only with him.

Hermione took a large drink of wine and then shook her head. She tried to let all of the worry about the wedding night dissolve away, but it would not. Her mother once spoke to her about her wifely duties, and assured her that with a kind, gentle husband, a husband who loved her, it would be pleasant, and not at all painful or grotesque. Now the question was, did her husband love her? He must, he simply must. She looked over at him and noticed that he was looking at her.

He took her wine glass from her and said in hushed tones, "Best not to partake in too much spirits, Hermione. We want you to have your senses about you later."

She nodded.

She just wanted this day to be done.

When the last of the wedding guests had left, the last goodbye uttered, and the afternoon had turned to sundown, Hermione was left wandering her bedchamber. The hours since the wedding inked by slowly, and finally evening was upon them.

Draco had taken her on a tour of Grey's Hall after the wedding guests had left, and while it was large, it was not too imposing, or too large. It had many rooms, and with each one, he would make comments such as, "you can change this one if you'd like," or "the drapes here may be changed." In one room he even said, "This was my grandmother's study, when she and my grandfather lived here during the summers, but if you would like to pick another one for your evening retiring, then feel free to do so."

His expression, which was all together pleasant and affable, was beginning to irk her to no end. It set her on edge. She was beginning to wonder where the real Draco Malfoy was. Now he had left her alone in a rather large bedchamber at the end of the hallway, with large white, French style furniture, warm cream walls, red carpets, a large canopy bed with beautiful bedding and more pillows than Hermione had ever seen. The room had four large windows, all facing north. On the opposite wall of the windows was a massive fireplace, with a large mirror on top, and a marble mantle. To the right of the room was a separate dressing room and bathing room, which had a large cherry armoire and a large copper bathtub. To the left of the room was a small sitting room.

The door to the hall was on wall to the left of the fireplace. To the right of the fireplace, opposite the bed and the wall of windows, was another door. Where did this door lead? Hermione was about to open it to find out, when Draco walked through it. He smiled and said, "Would you like to come see my bedchamber?"

She shook her head no.

He seemed confused.

"Why are you being so pleasant?" she asked with suspicion.

At first, he was vaguely shocked by her question. Then he was slightly perturbed and offended, but suddenly, a smile came to his face and he laughed. He bent at his waist and said, "Goodness, wife, you are good for my soul. That shall be your main reason for marriage, remember? To make me laugh daily? Am I being too pleasant? How do you want me to be?"

"More like you," she sputtered.

"Am I usually not pleasant?"

"Usually not," she said.

"Perhaps I am just happy, did that thought grace your mind?" he asked.

She was quiet for a moment and said, "Well, no." She looked at him and realized that for all intents and purposes, he was a stranger. He was her husband, but he was a stranger. She had grown up with him, but she barely knew him. She had fallen in love with him over the course of a few meetings during the war, yet she felt anxious when alone with him, and slightly ill at ease at the prospect of spending all of her days with him.

He was her husband, and she did not know how to proceed. He said, "Tell me what is on your mind."

"You would run and hide if you knew what was on my mind at the moment," she said, pulling on the fabric of the drapes with one hand. He placed his hand on hers, and removed the fabric that was bunched in her hand.

"If you want new drapes, you only have to say the word, you do not have to pull these ones down," he joked.

She turned back toward the window. "Did you think the wedding was nice? Was it all you had hoped?" he inquired.

"Oh, yes," she said, spinning back around, and smiling finally. "Did you find it to your liking?"

"I was happy that you were happy," he said.

"You are doing it again," she said, her eyebrows knitting together. "Stop feigning niceness and sweetness."

He laughed this time and said, "You are truly a complex and yet appealing woman. You shall keep me on my toes." He just realized that very soon, perhaps in only a few moments, he might be making love to her. She would be his, forever, until death do them part. It was a daunting thought. He had not considered it as thus, until now. He asked, "Do you want some wine?"

"Not at all," she said. "Are you trying to get me inebriated? Earlier you said that I should not drink too much, and now you want me to drink. I already have decided that we shall consummate our marriage tonight, so you do not need to get me drunk, Sir."

He laughed aloud, long and hard. He sighed before he said, "Hermione, I am truly happy that you are my wife, for more reasons than I can express." If for no other reason, her complete forthrightness, and frankness, would teach him many a thing. He continued to smile and he walked toward her. "But, seriously, love, we do not have to do anything at all tonight but become reacquainted, you know. I already promised you that." As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he regretted saying them. Gads, he **was** being a bit too nice.

"You do not want me?" she asked bluntly. She turned and walked toward one of the other tall windows and said, "But of course, Lord Malfoy, if you would rather, we shall keep this a marriage in name only."

He wanted to laugh again, but he was certain she might hex him, and he was not certain she did not have her wand with her. Instead, brightened by her hurt feelings at his stupid suggestion, he approached her as she looked out the window. She placed one small hand on the thick, wavy glass. He stood so close that their bodies touched. His chest pressed against her back. He felt her heat, smelled her natural fragrance, and he placed his same hand on top of hers, while his other encircled her body.

"This shall not be a marriage in name only, my wife. Never think that I meant that. Did you ever think that perhaps my pretense, my charade, my playing nice, was just my own nerves, playing off yours? I know you are nervous, and I am trying to relieve you of them, so that is why I made that suggestion. That is the only reason," he ended. His cheek pressed against her ear and hair. He tilted his chin down and kissed her shoulder.

He turned her around, so that her back was against the window, and before she could protest, as he was afraid she might do, his lips came down on hers.

She pushed him away and said, "Wait."

He was afraid she might say that.

"I have to get ready for bed," she said.

"Are you tired?" he asked, truly confused.

She seemed exasperated with him and said, "The marriage bed."

"We can get ready together," he suggested.

"No," she said, almost breathless. Fleur had bought her a lovely nightgown and robe for tonight, and had filled in the gaps her mother's early tutelage might have needed, so she wanted everything to be perfect. Her stepmother had given her the use of Gabby's lady's maid, as a sort of wedding present, though Draco had already hired a witch to act as an lady's maid for her as well, but since Marie, Gabby's maid, was a squib, Hermione did not want to throw her out on the street, so she decided to keep both women in her employ. Therefore, she was going to have Marie help her get dressed for tonight.

"Please, leave me to dress and ready myself, and return to me in an hour," she asked of him.

He said, "It would be a privilege," and he smiled and brought her hand up to his mouth. He kissed her hand twice, once with a closed mouth kiss, the second with a slightly open mouth kiss, before he dropped her hand and bowed to leave. He went through the connecting door to his own rooms, so he could prepare for her.

She called Marie to help her undress, and then get ready for bed.

Marie helped her to undress first, an arduous task, consisting of removing a dress, her stays, a chemise, a petticoat, undergarments, and about a hundred hairpins from her hair. Then she powdered, perfumed, and put ointment and liniment on her skin, in fragrances of lavender and honey scents. Marie brushed out her hair, where it curled down her back and around her shoulders. She helped her dress into her white nightgown, which had a low, lacy bodice, long lace sleeves, and went all the way to the floor. The front had an entire row of buttons, from the low neckline to the floor. She placed the matching robe on top, and half slippers on her feet.

Marie told her she looked beautiful. She smiled and thanked her. The remaining girl, the maid Draco had hired, told Hermione she would prepare her bedchamber before she left the dressing room. Hermione paced back and forth in the small dressing room, to wait nervously for her husband.

Finally, she left the dressing room, for the bedroom. She noticed that Marie left the room right as she entered. She also noticed that the girl must have started a fire in the fireplace, though it was a warm evening. Hermione was not sure that was necessary, and in fact, she felt it was a bit close and humid in the room. She walked over to one of the tall windows, and threw up the large sash, to let in some air.

She walked over to the fireplace, and with her wand, went to extinguish the flames. She pointed her wand at the fireplace and said, _"__Aguamenti_." However, for some unexplained reason, the flames burst higher. Hermione was a bit confused, but not concerned. She pointed her wand once more, and said the charm again. She said, "Aguamenti!"

The flames erupted higher, and went beyond the fireplace screen, leapt upon a chair to the right of the massive fireplace, and caught aflame immediately.

Hermione sucked air in, and screamed for Draco! She said the charm for the third time, this time pointing her wand at the chair. This was a horrendous mistake. The flames went higher and higher. A tapestry on the wall caught fire, as did the carpet on the floor, and the canopy on the bed. As if the fire was skipping and dancing around the room, it went from the canopy of the bed, to the draperies. Hermione screamed just as the large mirror over the fireplace broke into hundreds and hundreds of shards, littering the rooms with little pieces of flying glass, and cutting Hermione all over her face and chest. She screamed again.

Draco was just putting his dressing gown over his nightshirt when he thought he heard Hermione call his name. He stopped tying his sash to listen again. When he did not hear her again, he walked over to his dressing table, but that was when he heard her blood, curdling scream. He raced through the adjoining door, but was met with a curtain of fire. He closed that door quickly, raced through the main door to the hall, yelled at his servants to help, and then ran into her main doorway. The whole room was engulfed with flames and smoke. He could not even see her.

He called her name. He heard her scream again.

The fire crackled and the heat pressed against him, smothering him, suffocating him, taunting him. Where was his wife?

Two of his footmen, and one of the upstairs maids, began to fight the fire, using the same charm that Hermione had tried to use, but for them, it had the desired result. The fire was slowly, but surely, being snuffed out. The butler and another footman came into the room to fight the flames as well, just as the bed crumbled to the ground. The heat from the room was almost too much to bear, but Draco stepped around everyone, to search for Hermione.

He finally spotted her, on the floor, in the corner on the room, sitting by an open window, her face against the wall. He scooped her up and took her into his room.

Marie ran with them, as did Draco's valet, Pyle. He told his valet to get a Healer.

"Is she hurt?" Marie asked, worried.

"I do not know," Draco asked. She had cuts, many of them, all over, as well as many burns, mainly to her face, arms and hands. Her beautiful nightgown was melted to her skin on her arms and chest. She was whimpering silently, rocking back and forth.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hours went by, but still the entire third floor smelled like smoke, and although the staff had used magic to disperse the smell of the smoke, some lingered anyway.

It was almost dawn before her room was cleared of the rubble. Draco had moved her to the second floor, to the guest wing. The healer had applied a healing salve to her burns, and he said they would heal without scaring. He also healed the lacerations caused by the flying glass from the broken mirror.

Draco sat by her bed until dawn, holding her hand. When she finally awoke, he said not a word to her. Instead, he climbed into her bed, behind her, and held her. He had dressed long ago, so he stayed on the outside of the covers. He pulled her closer, placed a hand on her stomach, and pressed his cheek on her cheek.

After many long moments of holding her, of being assured that she was finally fine, and was going to be all right, he asked, "What happened in your room? How did the fire start?"

"Marie must have started a fire in the fireplace after she helped me to dress, and when I re-entered the bedroom I was warm, so I went to put it out, and I used the Aguamenti charm, but it only made the flames higher," she said in a hoarse voice.

His cheek still on hers, he moved a miniscule amount so his lips might brush her face, then he said, "That's impossible, Hermione. That would have but the flames out."

"I know it should have, but it did not," she said, calmly. "I tried a second and third time, but each time it seemed to fan the flames, and no water appeared."

"But, Hermione, my staff used the very same charm to put out the flames. How can you account for that? Are you sure you used the right charm?" he asked.

She moved from his arms, and sat up in bed to face him. He sat up as well. She felt indignant. She said, "I have known my charms since almost the first year at school, Malfoy. I have known that particular charm since practically day one. I have used it many a time!"

"Then perhaps you said the wrong incantation," he said to appease her.

That only made her angrier. "I know what I said in my room! I said the right incantation!" She looked down and saw that she had her chemise back on. She said, "Where is my nightgown?"

"It was ruined," he said.

She looked hurt. "It was very pretty." She did not know what else to say.

"I will get you another," he said back, because he did not know what to say, either. "Rest now. It is still very early."

"I want to know what happened!" she said, still agitated.

"I think we know what happened. Someone started a fire, and then with your nervousness about the wedding night, you said the wrong incantation to put out the flames," he said stronger, trying to convince her, and trying to convince himself.

She stood up and stomped her foot. "NO! That is not what happened! Why will you not believe me? Someone sabotaged my fireplace with magic!"

"I thought you said that Marie started the fire in the fireplace," Draco said steadily.

"I assume it was she," Hermione said back.

"She is a squib. How could she use magic to sabotage anything?" Draco asked. It was not that he did not believe her, but he hated to think that someone deliberately wanted to hurt her again. If that was the truth, then he was worried. He would rather think it was merely her nerves.

Hermione wanted to say something in return, but she had nothing to say in retort to that statement. She sat on the bed and hung her head. "Your staff must hate me. They must believe I am an incompetent fool."

"No one thinks any such thing," Draco assured her.

"You think it," she pointed out.

"If you say you used the charm to put out the flames, I know that you did. I am sorry that I doubted you; it is just that the alternative is a harrowing thing to think. It means that someone wanted to harm you, yet again," Draco said plainly. "We may need to tell the Aurors."

"No," she gasped. She raced over to him and held on to his waistcoat with both hands. "Please, do not tell a soul, outside of this house. I do not wish for anyone to worry."

"What if I am worried?" he asked, with one brow raised.

"You shall survive," she said playfully, though she was worried as well. She said, "Our wedding night was full of excitement after all, was it not?"

"Not quite the way I expected," he said, his arms coming around to hold her. "I wanted heat and passion, not heat and fire. Perhaps we might try again tonight, without the fire and flames."

"Is my room ruined?" she asked.

"Beyond repair," he joked.

"Good, I really did not like those drapes," she joked back.

"Then we shall go to Diagon Alley, pick out material for new drapes, pick out material for new bedding, pick out a new carpet, and new furniture, and have a general day about town. I would love to show off my new wife to members on the ton, and the good thing is that the fire did not touch my room at all. We can try again there tonight." His fingertips went down her face before he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"Your things have been moved here. Get dressed, and come down for breakfast, and then we shall go about town." He left her and went back up to the third floor. He looked around the charred remains of her room. In the light of day, with all four windows open to let in fresh air, everything looked much worse, actually. He looked over at the empty frame that housed the large mirror, and then he kneeled down by the hearth, and reached in to touch some of the ash. Someone had tried to kill his wife. There was no other explanation. He had to find out why.

He had promised her that he would not tell the Aurors, and he would keep that promise. However, he felt he had to tell someone, so he hurried and dressed, and then he sent an Owl to Harry Potter.


	18. Chapter 18

**All characters belong to JKR**

_**24, April 1813, Moments later, in the Rose Salon:**_

**_Draco stood alone in his room, while his wife was alone downstairs in the rose salon taking tea. He opened the letter, which was supposedly the confession from the highwayman. He read it, and his heart filled with anger. No wonder she hated him. No wonder she believed him guilty. This letter laid claim to each and every one of her accident, save for her last one. When she found the book and mask in his drawer, along with this letter, no wonder she thought him guilty. No wonder she ran away from him, even though she had once promised him that she would never do that again. He honestly did not blame her._**

**_However, the main point was, this letter was not written by him. An imposter wrote it. An imposter who knew that Draco was the highwayman and who was the person behind all of her accidents. The most important piece of evidence was that this person also had to know that Hermione knew that Draco was the highwayman._**

**_Now Draco just had to find that person and make them pay._**

**_He folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope even as he heard raised voiced down below on the first floor. He thought he heard his wife, but she did not sound alarmed, so he was not alarmed. He placed the letter inside his coat pocket, and started down the stairs even as the butler started up them._**

**_"Master Malfoy, you must come at once! Your wife has asked for your assistance."_**

**_He nodded at the man and began to trot down the stairs, but his trot turned to a dead heat as he heard Hermione once again scream out, "DRACO!"_**

**_He all but flew down the stairs, heart in his throat, her scream like a knife piercing his soul._**

* * *

**Chapter 18: 29, July 1812, The First Day of Married Life, and later at Diagon Alley: **

"You look beautiful in yellow," Draco said, looking over at his wife, as she sat across the long dining room table from him. She had on a dress of yellow muslin, with an overlay of cream silk lace, and she looked beautiful.

"I imagine you might like me in anything," she said, taking a bite of toast.

"I might like you out of anything, too," he said plainly.

She dropped her toast, and looked over at the two footmen who stood at each side of the long sideboard. The two men tried not to smile. Hermione chastised, "Lord Malfoy!"

"What did I say?" he asked, innocently. He looked over at the footmen and said, "You may leave us."

"Now they will think that you are going to see me out of my dress!" Hermione accused.

"Perhaps after I have my juice," Draco said languidly. Hermione's mouth gapped open and he laughed. "I do have a genuine scandalize suggestion, though, Wife," he said.

"I'm sure you do," she said sarcastically, crunching another bite of toast.

"Move your plate next to mine, over here, so that we might be next to each other, I might want to reach out and touch you, and it is all but an impossibility with you all the way over there."

"No."

"Yes."

"I like it here. The sun is coming in the window just right on this side of the table," she said, playfully.

He picked up his plate, silver setting, goblet, and napkin and moved to sit to her left. After he sat down he said, "Well, you are right. The sun is brighter over here. I can see you even better. I can see your eyes, your hair, and your lips. Your lips are wanting, wife."

"Deuce it all, you're a bad one, husband," she said.

"Such language from a woman," he said, "Tsk, tsk, I am all an outrage."

"Deuce is not such an appalling swear word," she said back, talking a bite of her eggs. "My father said it all the time, along with Hades, Gads, and Damn."

"Well, my wife curses like a drunken sailor," Draco said jokingly. Hermione threw a piece of toast at him.

"There are worse words!" she insisted.

"Yes, there are worse. Shall I teach them to you?" he asked, placing her toast back on her plate.

"Stop being bad!" she said, pointing her fork at him.

He threw down his napkin and said, "Last night I was too nice and today I am bad. What do you want, Wife?"

She lowered her head and smiled. She looked up a moment later and saw that he was grinning at her. "Do you really mean to take me shopping today?"

"Changing the subject, are we? Of course, I must take you shopping, for you need to fix up your bedchambers, and I want to show you off a bit," he said, as he resumed his eating.

"What shall we do after shopping?" she asked. She pushed her plate away, and her hands went down to her lap. He thought she seemed nervous again.

"Are you already nervous about tonight?" he asked, seriously.

She shrugged and said, "No, for there will probably be a flood or something that will foil our attempt again."

"Bloody hell, I hope not," he burst out.

"Language, husband!" she said, pointing her finger at him. He grabbed her finger. She tried to wiggle it from him, but he held on.

He stood up and over her, her finger still in his grasp. She looked up and admitted, "I am nervous, Draco."

He let go of her finger. "I should woo you, as I promised you I would do before we married. That will make you less nervous." He said it more to himself, than to her. He held her hand and pulled her to stand in front of him.

"How would you have wooed me, if our courtship had been more traditional? If it had not started during the war, and then stalled, and if we had not had the hasty marriage?" she asked.

He smiled, his lips pulling up only on one corner, and he started to back her toward the wall. As he steered her backwards, one hand went around her back, the other skimmed down her arm, and then he said, "Well, the first meeting would probably have been something innocent, in the parlor of your family home."

"Properly chaperoned," she said in a whisper.

His mouth came close to hers, but did not touch her lips in anyway. He moved his mouth so that only his breath touched her lips, their breath mingling sensually. The same breath then feathered and fanned across her cheek, to her ear. He said, "Yes, and when that chaperone left the room, perhaps to call for tea, I would have tried to steal a kiss."

He cocked his head to the side, to stare at her. His face was so close, that she had to turn her face as well. She said, "That's disgraceful."

"That's the Malfoy way," he leered.

"How would you have stolen this kiss, if I had even allowed it?" she asked, breathlessly, excited, exhilarated. Hermione's pulse quickened as his body closed practically around hers, pressing her intimately into the wall.

Draco looked at her one last time, before he kissed her. Her beautiful face was flushed, her lips slightly parted, her full breasts were heaving as if with exertion. He looked down at the rosy swell of breasts and his mouth practically watered with want. He wanted her so badly, that he felt close to madness.

His right index finger drew a line across her lips, all wetness, and warmth. His body was rigid and hard in front of hers. His finger went from her lip, to her jaw line, down her neck. He turned his hand around, and his knuckles skimmed her collarbone, the collar of her dress, and then quickly, almost as if it was an anomaly, he touched the outside of one breast with his knuckles, before grasping her hand in his.

He caressed her lips gently with his own, as gently as he did yesterday when he stole a kiss from her after their wedding, but then his mouth turned from warm and inviting to hard and demanding. He pressed his body harder against hers, his thigh pressing slightly between her legs, both hands clasping her hands above her head, holding her captive. Her body felt weak and lifeless, yet full of vigor and verve, and utterly, completely aroused.

He did not open his mouth, to deepen the kiss, because he knew if he did, he would not be able to stop, so when he lifted his head, to gaze down at her, she seemed slightly disappointed, and he felt her disappointment almost as if they shared a bond. He said, "That is how I would have stolen a kiss."

"Well, I can hardly wait to see what would happen on the second meeting," she said, almost breathlessly.

He let go of her hands, removed his body from covering hers, and leaned down one last time, to place a chaste kiss on her cheek. "The preview of the second meeting will take place after we return from Diagon Alley, agreed?"

"I can hardly wait," she said truthfully, smoothing her skirts, even as his hand went up to cup her cheek.

"My sentiments exactly, wife."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco was painfully sensitive to her hand resting on his arm as they walked away from the mercantile, down Diagon Alley. All he could think of was the kiss they shared over breakfast, and of the one he planned for her at lunch, and then the one they would share at tea, and then the one they would partake at dinner, and then of the ultimate pleasure that would await them both tonight. He looked over at her, and the wind blew her hair under her bonnet. She turned and smiled at him. He was the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

They had spent over an hour picking out material for drapes, bedding and such, and while he usually found task such as these boring and close to tedium, with her, they were enjoyable. She was direct, and she knew exactly what she wanted. She delighted in what she liked, and she turned sour at what she hated. He found her entertaining and alluring.

Now, as they walked toward another shoppe, he noticed people watching them. By now, most of the wizarding world had heard of their nuptials, so people watched them with curiosity, mixed with envy or bemusement. He could tell by the way some of the men tipped their hats, or the way some of the ladies curtsied, that some were sincere and others were merely playing a part. He neither worried nor cared. Let them keep their congratulations and salutations. Hermione's happiness was the only one that mattered to him.

It was also apparent that some of them had heard about the fire, no doubt from his staff or from Potter or Weasley, both of whom had come to see Draco before they left Grey's Hall this morning. A few people made remarks regarding her ladyship's health and welfare. Hermione did not seem bothered by the remarks. She nodded politely and thanked them for their concern.

Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood stood by the Quidditch store as they approached and both men offered them warm welcomes and congratulations. Oliver kissed Hermione's fingertips in greeting, while Flint said, "Quite an exciting wedding night, Malfoy, I must say. I hear it was full of fire and heat."

Draco gave him a look that dripped with disdain. When Marcus laughed and tried to reach for Hermione's hand, when Oliver dropped it, she let out a little, 'humph' and turned on her heel and walked into a lady's bookstore.

"I think you offended the new Lady Malfoy, Flint, with you deplorable manners," Oliver said with a laugh.

"I dare say you should watch your tongue with my wife, Flint," Draco said.

"I meant no disrespect, and I do not wish to be called out by you, and the day after your wedding, no less," Flint said lightly.

"Oh, I would not call you out," Draco said, "I would let Hermione take care of you herself." The three men laughed, but then Draco said, "Seriously, this is at least the second attempt on Hermione's life. If you hear anything, any gossip at all, you must let me know. I know I still have many enemies, and I would hate to think that someone would take out their hate for me on my wife."

"You know, the members of the Golden Trio still have enemies, too," Flint said sincerely. "It might have nothing to do with you."

"I concur. It might be someone with an axe to grind against your wife, although we all three know it's not the highwayman who is making these attempts, as the gossip mongers are saying" Oliver said, smiling.

Draco said nary a word to that, since he had never even told his two friends his secret. Flint said, "I don't think it is either, but to hear the rumor mill this morning, that is what everyone else is saying. They say that she got too good a look at him, supposedly not only the night the carriage was stolen, but in the garden at Shell Cottage and the night he stole the book at Potter's house."

Draco was not aware anyone besides him and Hermione knew of these other meetings. Did anyone know about the other two? He said, "What are you going on about, Flint?"

"Didn't she tell you, old man?" Flint asked. "Married one day and she's already keeping secrets from you. Yes, the night the rake stole from Potter, she was in the very library when he stole the book. Some say he hexed her good that day, but not before she got a few good licks in, and then before that, he met with her in the garden of Shell cottage, the day before the assembly, or was it the day afterwards? Anyway, supposedly that meeting was to threaten her to keep her mouth shut."

Draco wondered how rumors such as these got started. He also wondered if Hermione had told someone that she had met the highwayman those times, because both rumors were based in truth.

Oliver interjected, "I even heard that some blackguard is claiming that Hermione fought off the highwayman in Knockturn Alley, and that he witnessed the whole thing. Still, this doesn't mean that she can identify him, does it?"

"I know not," Draco said, absentmindedly. He looked toward the bookstore. If everyone else thought that the highwayman was to blame, what did she think? He excused himself from his friends and went to find his wife.

Once inside the store, he spied her by a shelf, speaking with Ron's wife Hannah and her stepsister, Gabby.

He heard Gabby say, "Hermione, Mama said that you were almost killed last night. It cannot be a coincidence. It has to be the highwayman!"

"I am sure it is not," she said to the excitable young girl.

"Are the rumors true?" Hannah asked. "Did you duel him in Knockturn Alley? When Ron and Harry heard that, they were livid. You should have told them. Likewise, when Harry learned that you met up with him Grimmauld Place, and tried to stop him single-handedly from stealing that book, well, let us just say that Harry feels so guilty! He said he should have protected you, not the other way around."

"Seriously!" Hermione seethed. "There is nary a grain of truth to any of this!" Although, that in itself, was a lie. How did anyone know these things? Hermione had not told anyone. She had written these things in her journal, but she had not told a soul. Someone must have read her diary. That part made her angrier than the lies and innuendoes.

Draco had heard enough. He made himself known. He walked around the shelf and said, "Hermione, are you ready to go? How are you fairing?"

"I'm fine, and yes I'm ready to leave here. I need a few things from the apothecary. Do you mind?" she asked, although it was still apparent that she was agitated. She excused herself from the other women and drew her husband's hand in hers. They walked outside and she told him, "The rumor mill is running rampant this morning! Everyone believes the highwayman is trying to kill me!"

Draco looked shocked. "What do you think?"

"I know not what to think, but some of the things that people seem privy to, no one should know but him and me," she said, pointing her finger at Draco's chest.

"Keeping secrets from me, wife?" Draco asked, taking her finger in his hand, as he did earlier in their dining room.

"Of course I am," she said, without humor.

He did not know what to make of that. She wrenched her finger from his hand and said, "Everyone makes me so angry! They need to leave it all be! If the highwayman is trying to harm me, them I shall take care of him! I truly do need to go to the apothecary. I have a sudden headache. Where shall I find you?"

"Shall I go with you?" he asked.

"No," she said with a weak smile. "Go back over to your friends, the charming Mr. Wood and the annoying Mr. Flint."

He smiled and said, "Please give me permission to tell them that you called them such."

"I would not have said it otherwise," she said with a smile. He winked at her as she turned to walk toward the chemist. Instead of walking toward his friends, he had somewhere else to go.

A few moments later, Hermione walked out of apothecary with a few ingredients and potions, including a headache powder, and she looked for her husband, but he was nowhere in sight, nor were his friends. She seemed to be alone.

She was nonplussed at the thought, but slightly peeved. They had apparated here together today, though she could easier go home without him. She began to walk along the lane, past the other shoppes, to see if she might spy him inside one of them.

She had just walked by a boarded up storefront, when a hand came out, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her quickly inside.

She could not scream, because the person's other hand came around her mouth. She dropped her purchases, and her reticule, which contained her wand, as her assailant turned her around.

It was the highwayman.


	19. Chapter 19

**All characters belong to JKR**

**_24, April, 1813, After an Unexpected Visitor:_**

**_Hermione felt as if she could hardly catch her breath as she waited for Draco to come back into Grey's Hall. Draco escorted their unwelcome and unwanted visitor from their home. He then ran back into the rose parlor. He kneeled in front of her, placed his hands on her cheeks, and said, "Are you unhurt?"_**

**_"Truly, she alarmed me, but did not hurt me," Hermione said. "Draco, she said she came to warn me."_**

**_"That is unlikely!" Draco shouted. He stood and paced the room. "The more I think on it, the more I feel she is somewhat to blame."_**

**_"Why would you think that, Draco, why?" Hermione asked._**

**_He turned to his wife and wondered how much more he could reveal to her before their relationship broke irrevocably. He sat on the footstool in front of her, grasped her hand, and said, "You already know that I lied about being the highwayman, however, I fear there are a few more lies I have yet to reveal to you, and when I do, I am afraid you shall be very unhappy."_**

**_"Does she know of these lies?" Hermione asked._**

**_"Yes, I'm afraid she does."_**

**_"Then you must tell me," she implored._**

* * *

**Chapter 19: 29, July 1812, Diagon Alley, The Highwayman, and Married Life: **

Draco held his hand over his wife's mouth. She was breathing so hard that he felt slightly alarmed for her. Her chest heaved up and down at such a distressing rate that he felt her fear, and he was somewhat appalled, because he also felt slightly aroused, but he pushed that particular feeling aside. Her back was pressed against his chest, and he said in her ear, "If I let go of your mouth, angel, will you assure me that you shall not scream? I must have your word."

She nodded.

"Truly, if you scream, I will be quite vexed with you."

She nodded again.

He released her mouth, but kept his other arm around her waist. True to her word…well, no, not true to her word, but true to everything he knew about her, as soon as he released his hand from her mouth, she screamed as loud and long as she could, until he placed his hand back on her mouth.

"Now, sweetling, that was unkind of you," Draco hissed. He moved her further into the abandoned store. Once he had her in the farthest corner, he said, "Now, shall we try this again? I want your word as a lady this time that you will not scream. If you scream this time, I shall silence you with a kiss, and since I hear you are a married woman now, I hope that might be enough to entice you to keep you tongue. Therefore, once more, I shall remove my hand. Keep you scream to a silent roar, shall you?"

He turned her in his arms even as he released her mouth. She was still breathing hard. It was dark and dank in the empty store, but he could see fear and anger in her eyes. She reached back with her hand and slapped him hard across the face, so hard that his tri-corn hat flew off his head. His hand went up to his face and said, "Well, I told you to keep quiet, I never said anything about striking me, did I? Next time I shall be more specific in my instructions."

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, still breathless. "I will have you know that my husband is out in Diagon Alley, probably looking for me at this very moment! He will surely kill you for this!"

"Surely you would not let him kill your dear, old friend," he said, bending to pick up his hat. He banged it against his hip before he placed it back on his head.

"Why have you strong-armed me such as this?" she asked. She moved slightly away from him, and placed her arms tightly around her body.

He felt tenderness for her, and he hated that he was causing her fear and distress. He placed a hand toward her and said, "Believe me, angel, your distress will be short lived. I only wish to tell you something very, very important. I am quite aware of the gossip going up and down the streets, and among the members of the community. Everyone seems convinced that I am trying to harm you for some reason, but nothing could be further from the truth. I am not now, nor would I ever, want to hurt you. I swear this on my life. I may not have honour, so I know you may not believe me," he took a step closer, "but still, I ask you to do so now."

"I do not think you are the one trying to hurt me, Sir," she admitted, "even though the last time we met, we parted with animosity between us."

"Which was my fault," he said.

"Yes it was," she agreed.

He smiled and then laughed.

"Do you have my book, by the way, or did you really burn it?" she had the presence of mind to ask.

"I am afraid to tell you I do not have it with me, but I promise to return it to you, someday. I cannot say when, but you shall have it back soon. I also want you to know that I have decided to give up my life of crime," he said with a smile. He walked around her, circling her. She turned the entire time, so she could continue to face him.

"That is a good thing," she said. "Especially as you seemed to be so bad at it."

"You are a riot, my love," he said.

"I am not your love," she said, frowning.

"No, you are Lord Malfoy's love now," he said, also with a frown, though his was contrived. "I take it your marriage is a love match?" He walked up to her and pulled on one of the ribbons of her bonnet, untying it. He slipped it off her head.

She reached for it, but he threw it on the floor by his feet. He said, "I love your curls. I want to see them once more, as it may be the last time. Now, answer my question, is your marriage a love match? Do you love your husband very much, Lady Malfoy, or only just a little, or perhaps not at all?"

Hermione no longer felt conflicted. Though she still felt 'something' for the man in front of her, she loved her husband with all her heart, and she saw no reason not to tell this man. She could admit it at least to him. Whom would he tell? He would not reveal her secrets, because she would never reveal his. She said, "Remember when you asked me to reveal you ten secrets?"

"I recall, and to my calculations, you still owe me a few," he said, expectantly.

"Then let my answer be my final reveal," she said with her hand over her chest. "I love him with all my heart, and soul, and with every breath that I take. I love him until my heart aches from the passion of it. I love him higher than the sky, deeper than the ocean. Oh, I really do love him." That last sentence was said with almost a whispered sigh. It was as if she finally realized it herself.

Her knees almost buckled under her at the thought. She reached out for something to steady her, found nothing, but it did not matter, because he was there to keep her from falling. He grasped her hand to steady her.

She thought she saw him smiling, before he frowned again. He backed her toward the wall, to an old dusty chair, where he assisted her to sit. He paced in front of her and said, "Then I suppose I have no reason to seek you out again. We shall call your last secret the final one. My last secret shall be revealed to you someday, but not today. You love your husband." He paused, because even as she said it, he could scarcely believe it, but as he repeated the words, they became more tangible, bona fide, and he wanted to shout it from the highest rooftops, but he knew that he could not.

He continued, "You know I am not the one that is trying to hurt you…" he turned quickly and persisted, "and you will never tell anyone how to find me, correct?"

"Of course not, not as long as you promise me that you are really giving up your life of crime," she said.

"It is abandoned, as is my heart, apparently, since it no longer belongs to you," he quoted poetically. He bent over her, took her hand, kissed her knuckles and ended with, "Someday, you will know who I am, that will be my final secret revealed, and I only hope you show me as much compassion at that time, as you are apparently showing me today, my lady." He ran out the doorway, without a backwards glance.

She stayed on the chair, and felt utterly confused and bewildered. A few moments later, she heard her husband calling her name.

"Hermione?"

She did not call back. She was too shocked. She stood up, picked up her hat, her purchases, but then when she heard him call again, she dropped everything once more and she finally answered his call. "DRACO!"

He ran into the building. He pulled her into his arms. He kissed her face, all over, hurried, quick, kisses. Between kisses he said, "You had me worried." One more lie wouldn't hurt, he figured. He was not worried insomuch as he was overjoyed! His wife loved him! She still loved him, or perhaps she just loved him again. It mattered not, because she loved him and he loved her, and he would tell her so tonight.

"He was here, Draco," she said, pulling away from his kisses, to grasp the front lapel of his jacket.

"Who, my wife?" he asked.

"The highwayman," she revealed, "and I know I sound mad, but he is not the one trying to harm me. I know this without any doubt in my heart. He also told me that he intends to give up his life of crime."

He let out a little laugh. He felt elated, but she thought the laugh meant that he doubted the highwayman's word, or perhaps he thought Hermione was being naïve. She said, "I believe him, Draco."

"I am glad for him," Draco said. "Although how rude of the chap to accost my wife without my attendance."

"Well, he could hardly do so with you around," Hermione said, as she bent down to get her bonnet.

He was bending to get her purchases, which were wrapped in brown paper, tied with string, when he straightened up, shocked, thinking that she knew his identity from that statement. He said, "What?"

"He could not reveal himself to you, because you would have flogged him, or called him out, for a duel, or some such nonsense," she said logically.

He let out a sigh of relief. "Of course," he concluded. "Shall we go home? I am looking forward to more wooing."

"Oh, yes," she said as they stepped out along the street. "Our 'supposed' second meeting of our courtship is to commence after lunch. If the first courtship would have taken place in a chaperoned parlor, what would happen during our second meeting?"

"A ride, but of course," he stated, "in my new curricle. A good courtship always begins with a new curricle. Perhaps instead of after lunch, we could take a ride and then have a picnic lunch, and that could stand-in for our second outing. I might even be persuaded to gift you with jewelry."

"That would make me seem very shallow, if I would accept a present on a second outing," she said.

He shrugged his shoulders and said, "But I believe a good courtship begins with presents. Would you like diamonds or rubies?"

"Neither," she said seriously. "You do not need to buy my affections."

"You want the courtship to be all innocent and sweet, do you not, wife?" he asked with a slight smile, as they walked along, arms linked, her packaged tucked under his free arm. "But we are already wed, so your affections have already been bought."

"Paid for by my dowry, do you mean?" she asked.

He only smiled at that. She noticed that he looked discomfited, so she said, "Was there no dowry?" She stopped walking. She knew that her father had long ago set up a dowry for her, and if she knew her father, it was bound to be large.

Draco swallowed and said, "One does not discuss such things with ones wife, Hermione. It isn't proper. However, whatever money your father had set aside for your dowry I will make sure I set it up in a separate account for you. Would you like that?" He thought of that suddenly. Of course, her money was gone…already in the greedy hands of her stepmother, but he could easily replace it.

"You are right, let us not discuss such things. Let us discuss our courtship. You promised to woo me, and you shall do so with a proper courtship, which means we need innocence at first. We shall have a groomsman along for our ride, for chaperone, or one of my lady's maids," she decided, her hand on his arm. They walked along the street and he smirked. "What?" she asked.

"We really are married, need I remind you. We shall pretend we have a chaperone, for I admit, I would like to be alone with you."

"If you were really courting me, would we need a chaperone?" she asked playfully, as they walked down the street.

"If we were really courting, yes, but seeing as I already secured your hand in marriage from your stepmother before I even had to put one ounce of perspiration into the whole courting ritual, I think it is rather late for that," he joked.

She almost growled and said, "Do not remind me."

He laughed and said, "We shall pretend that instead of asking for your hand in marriage, I merely asked for the permission to court you. Now, let us move our courtship ahead a few weeks. We will pretend we have already taken a stroll in the park."

"We did that, actually, the day you forced me to accept your marriage proposal," she said lightly.

He gave her a vexing look, ignored her statement about 'force', and said, "And we will say that we have already danced exclusively at an assembly and a ball."

She interrupted again and said, "Done, and done, although, at the assembly, you were a brute, and called me names, and refused my apology, and at the ball, I was almost killed."

He stopped walking and said, "Is it your goal to have me strangle you today, for being obtuse? For I am not above doing so. Moreover, you rescinded your apology at the assembly, and as for the ball, the statues missed you by a mile." He smiled, trying to make light, though he knew her version of events was closer to the truth than his. "Now, for the sake of our wooing experience, let us also say that we have already kissed a few times, we have taken tea, and we have dined together."

"Where does a fire fit into the whole courtship ritual?" she asked seriously, and then she smiled.

"Hermione Malfoy, you are expressly trying to vex me, and I must say that it is working like a charm. Fire usually only happened 'after' a courtship, and in bed, if you get my meaning," he said, one eyebrow in the air. If she was going to tease, so was he.

She looked shocked and she slapped his arm playfully.

He said, "That means that our next outing is undoubtedly a ride in my curricle, as already stated, then a picnic lunch, alone, no chaperone, and we shall make love on a blanket out of doors."

She stopped walking and her mouth flew open. He placed his finger on her chin, shut her mouth, and then leaned over and kissed it.

"We must be alone, for I have something very important to tell you," he began, "but if you would rather have an audience, perhaps your stepmother would come along."

"I should think not!" Hermione barked.

He turned to face her and asked, "Shall we apparate home, have a rest first, and then go for our carriage ride and picnic?"

"And then have our second kiss?" she asked.

"I said nothing about a second kiss. I said making love outdoors, wife," Draco said slyly, his arms now around her waist. He kissed her forehead, right there on the sidewalk, for everyone to see.

"Our first experience will not be outdoors!" she said seriously.

He smiled, to show that he was 'slightly' joking earlier and said, "Fine, we shall wait until tonight for the full experience, as you so coyly put it, but still, I never said that our second outing would result in a kiss, either."

"You mean that you would not steal a kiss during a second outing, even after stealing a kiss during the first outing, if you were really wooing me with a courtship? What a terrible show of wooing, Malfoy!"

He smiled and said, "I only think it is fair that you should try to steal the kiss from me this time, wife. My life of crime is over now."

She frowned for a moment, thinking that sounded too familiar, but he disapparated them both back to Grey's Hall before she could comment on it, or even think of it at any extent.


	20. Chapter 20

**All characters belong to JKR**

_**25, April, 1813, Draco alone at Grey's Hall:**_

_**He sent a missive to the woman who had come to see his wife, to see if she would meet him. This was ending, here and now. If she knew who was harming his wife, both last summer, and now, then Draco needed to know. If she were party to the madness, Draco would make the woman pay.**_

_**He had his suspicions that she was party to everything all along. It was all too neat, too tidy, otherwise. Hermione was in the greenhouse, reading, and her maid, Abby, was with her, so she need never know the woman was coming back today. She MUST NEVER know that this woman was coming back here today!**_

_**No one must know.**_

_**Yes, this was ending immediately. Draco's valet walked in the room and merely nodded. Draco knew what that meant. He said aloud, "Let the games begin, and then let them end again."**_

* * *

**Chapter 20: 29, July 1812, A Kiss and a Carriage Ride from Hell: **

When they arrived home, Draco told Hermione he had some business to attend and he locked himself in his study. She went to her temporary room on the second floor, unloaded her purchases, changed from her spencer and bonnet, and even changed her morning dress for a dress of light blue muslin. She decided to be daring and wear her hair long. No one would see her but her husband. Marie knocked on the door to the second floor guestroom and entered with a basket of fresh flowers in her hand.

"I thought we could dress your hair in flowers, for your picnic, Mistress," Marie said.

"I have taken a notion to wear my hair long," Hermione said, sitting down at the dressing table. "I thought I would only pull it up in the front." Marie walked over to her, pulled it up in the front for her, and secured it with a hair comb and some flowers. Hermione smiled.

Marie smiled at Hermione and exclaimed, "Your husband shall not be able to take his eyes off you." Hermione remained seated at the dressing table as Marie fussed with her hair.

"Marie, let me ask you something, did you start the fire in the fireplace last night?" Hermione asked.

"Your husband already asked both me and Abby, and he even asked his man, Pyle, and Ewing. No one seems to know who set the fire, my lady," the girl answered.

Hermione nodded absentmindedly. She stood up and said, "Do you think I will need a shawl?"

"It's a warm day," Marie answered. "I would think not." Hermione reached over for a book and Marie laughed and said, "And you won't need a book either, Lady Malfoy." She took the book from Hermione and set it back on the dressing table.

Hermione laughed as well and walked out of the room, and down the long hallway. She went down to Draco's study, but he was not there. She went to the kitchens, thinking perhaps he was overseeing their lunch, but Cook said that she had not seen the Master.

She did not know where Draco was. He had told her to change, take a nap if she needed, and he would meet her in the foyer in an hour. She knew the hour was close to being up. She went back up to her rooms, and was going to wait for him there, when instead, she walked over to the railing of the stairs, looked down, and when she did not see him in the foyer, she looked up, and decided to climb the stairs to the third floor.

She walked to his rooms, but before she could knock, she heard voices in her old rooms next door. She stood outside the door, which was open, just a crack, to listen. The voices belonged to Harry and Draco.

"Do you see any signs that the fireplace was charmed to ignite the flames higher?" Draco asked.

Hermione spied in the crack, between the door and the doorframe, to see Harry kneeling by the fireplace. He reached inside the fireplace, said a spell with his wand, and then said, "It does not appear tampered with, however, Hermione would not have used the wrong charm to put out the flames."

"I know. That worries me," Draco said. "That is the only reason I called you."

Harry nodded. There was no love loss between the men, but there was a loved shared, by the name of Hermione Granger. Harry looked up at the looking glass frame and said, "Is that the frame that housed the mirror that broke?"

"Yes, and the strange thing is, though the flames were hot, I cannot think it was hot enough to shatter the glass the way it did. If the flames and smoke did not kill her, perhaps the perpetrator hoped the flying glass would," Draco deduced. Harry walked up to the frame.

"This is alarming, Malfoy." He pointed to something. Draco stepped closer. Hermione could not see to what they were referring.

"Lady Malfoy, did you need your husband?" Pyle asked from behind her.

Draco and Harry both looked toward the partially opened door at the mention of her name by Draco's trusted valet. Hermione stepped into the room and said, "What are you doing here, Harry?"

"I came to see the damage to the room." Harry walked around the large, now empty, space. "The Aurors are coming shortly. I will wait here for them while you and Malfoy go on to your picnic, and frolic around like the newlyweds that you are." He smiled at her but she did not smile back.

Hermione looked from one man to the other, and then said to Draco, "You were not to call the Aurors. You promised me."

"I lied," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "It is something I do often."

"Well, you had better stop," she said seriously.

"Are you ready for our outing?" he asked, having decided to ignore her veiled threat.

"I might not go now. I am angry," she said, scowling.

Harry smiled and said, "Now there is the Hermione I know and love. The one that is often angry and vexed at Draco Malfoy. How I have missed her so." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. He held her hand, looked at Draco, and said, "By the way, you know that you missed your appointment with the Ministry this morning, do you not? It was not easy to get you the appointment on such short notice, and now it will have to be rescheduled."

"What appointment?" Hermione asked.

Draco sighed and mocked Harry by saying, "Now there's the Harry Potter I know and hate. Sanctimonious, backstabbing bastard, holier-than-thou, troublemaker, rabble-rouser. How I have _not_ missed you." He took Hermione's hand from Harry's and said, "It is nothing, wife. Just an inconsequential appointment that I had with some Ministry officials and it can be rescheduled. I thought it was best to take you shopping this morning, instead." He walked with his wife out of the room, glanced back angrily at Potter, and then once in the hall he kissed her hand and said, "Wait for me outside, by the stables, sweetling."

"What did you just call me?" she asked, taken aback. 'Sweetling' was not a common form of endearment, and it was one he had never used for her before; nonetheless, the highwayman had used it for her often.

He caught his mistake and said, "I'm trying out different forms of endearment. I cannot always just call you wife. If you do not like 'sweetling', I can try 'love', or 'sweetness', or 'precious'."

Hermione had a look of utter disgust about her. "Please, just call me 'wife', or Hermione." She flipped her hair and ran down the stairs.

"There's my Hermione again, and I guess she told you, Malfoy," Harry said, standing behind him, and slapping him on the back.

Draco turned quickly and said, "Why did you mention the meeting in front of her?"

"She does not know that the Ministry has decided to restore all of your family's belongings back to you, in exchange for your marriage to her?" Harry asked.

"No, she does not know. I am not even sure she knows that my father's things were seized in the first place. Though I know she knows about the law, and the sanctions, I'm not sure she knows that purebloods who marry Muggle-borns receive a one time gift in the form of a cash endowment, or in my case, my belongings returned, or whatever is left of them, returned."

"Yes, whatever is left of them," Harry repeated. "Some have been given away, and some have been stolen by the highwayman, speaking of, do you think there is any credence to the belief that he is behind what is happening to Hermione?"

"No, I really do not," Draco said solemnly, knowing it was the truth. "I feel that whatever is happening here is against me, not her. I feel it is to hurt me, not to hurt her."

"Ah, but there's the rub, old man," Harry said. "They may hurt her in the mean while, to get to you. What better way to break a man, then to break his heart, or his will to live?"

Draco sighed. "I hate you sometimes."

"What did I do now, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"You're right, you bloody bastard. You are always right, that is what you did." Draco started down the stairs, but paused to look up. "Be sure to have the Aurors look at what we saw near the mirror frame."

Harry nodded.

Hermione waited by the stable and the groomsmen brought the curricle around. It was hooked to two beautiful horses. Draco came up behind her with a picnic basket and he said, "Cook said that she put in enough food to sustain an army. Are we going into battle, Hermione?"

"I do not mean to fight you, Lord Malfoy," she said seriously.

"Splendid," he said sincerely in return. "But when did I go back to being Lord Malfoy?" He placed the basket in the back, and then he placed his hands around her waist. Before he lifted her up, he merely held her for a moment. He said, "I…" but then he faltered. He almost let, 'I love you,' slip out. He almost said it. He wanted to say it. He would say it very soon.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I shall help you in the curricle," he said, instead. He lifted her easily onto the running board, and then guided her to the seat. He climbed in after her, took the reins, and they were off, across the park of Grey's Hall, through an open meadow, not far from the mansion, to head toward the long drive that wove around the massive estate.

He slowed the horses and said, "Shall we drive around the drive, so you can see the rest of the land, before we pick a spot to eat?"

"I would like that," she said. She had her hands in her lap, and she was twisting the material of her skirts tightly in them.

"Are you nervous again?" he asked.

Without answering, she asked, "What did you and Harry notice about the mirror that made you both suspicious?"

"Wife?" he asked.

"In my former room?" she clarified

"Oh," he said slowly. "Well, nothing really."

"Draco, you know not to keep things from me. I am not some simpering female who cannot handle the truth. I will not faint or swoon," she said with a laugh.

"There was a crack in the frame of the mirror," Draco said, taking one of her hands from her lap, and moving it to his.

"So?"

"That mirror is 16th century, solid-gold guild. It had no previous cracks. It was tampered with, and my guess is that it was tampered with magic, and not by other means," he stated clearly.

She frowned. He looked over at her and said, "Never mind about that now. This is our second official outing, even though I said we were moving things up a bit, and there is no chaperone, so tell me, what do you plan to do? How shall you steal a kiss from me?"

"Speaking of stealing..." Hermione was about to mention the fact that he had mentioned 'giving up a life of crime', which was similar to what the highwayman had told her earlier, when the curricle rocked heavily over to the left.

"Did you hit a rock?" Hermione asked, leaning over to look at the ground and the back wheel.

"No," Draco said, perturbed. "I don't know why we swayed. I hope the wheel is sound. This is a new curricle." He stopped the curricle and pointed to a hillside and said, "There is our spot. There is where we shall picnic."

"There is not much shade offered in that spot. I see only a few trees," Hermione said back.

Draco looked at her and said, "Well, yes, but it is not so bright today, is it?"

"But how shall we make love out of doors, if we do not at least have the covering of trees?" she asked, her eyes all doe like innocence.

Draco was the one that sat with his mouth agape this time. She leaned over, kissed his open mouth, and said, "That is how I shall steal my kiss! I shall shock you into submission!"

"Shock me! That is an understatement. I think you might have caused a fever," Draco said. He leaned toward her and said, "Feel my head, am I hot and fevered?"

"Go away." She pushed on him.

"Come here," he said, instead. He dropped the reins, pulled on her neck, his right hand on her nape, and he practically dragged her across the seat. He looked at her for a moment, smiled, and then he kissed her back. The contact was soft at first, feathery soft, sweet, and warm, almost embracing.

His lips continued to caress hers, enticing her to yield to him. She pushed against his chest, parted her lips from his, and said, "You stole from me again, my lord, how unfair."

"I think it is utterly fair," he countered. His hand was still cupping the back of her head, his other hand on her face. Her hands on his chest were no longer pressing, pushing him away. Instead, they were grasping at his silk waistcoat, urging him closer.

He said, "Hermione," and then he brought his head down again, toward hers. This time, he exerted more pressure, opened her mouth, slid his tongue inside, even as he dragged her partly onto his lap. She had a powerful surge of emotion, and a heady rush of desire, which throbbed in every fiber of her being, and in which she had never felt before.

She returned his advances eagerly, fueling his flame, igniting his passion, until he felt desperate for release. He wanted her so much, so very badly, and he knew from the moan that escaped her mouth that she felt the same.

"Draco, please," she said.

"Please, what, darling?" he asked. His lips traveled down her neck. His right hand came up to cup her breast, and it was a feeling she had never felt before. She felt it all the way down to her toes and in the junction between her thighs, and she arched her back, and moved more fully onto his lap, which caused him even more passion and pain. He moved his hand back and forth over the muslin material covering her breast, even as he kissed the swell of breast, exposed above the open collar of her dress.

He gazed down at her, and her eyes were closed, and while he wanted to continue, he knew that he could not do so, right here, right now.

She whimpered, and he sighed, and he pushed her off his lap. He held her close, rained small kissed on her face even as he said, "My curricle is made for racing and transportation, but perhaps not the best for kissing, though I did have the forethought to pack a blanket."

She took a deep breath and finally pushed away from him. He picked up the reins that he had dropped when he first kissed her, and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he started the curricle.

Then all hell broke loose.

The curricle had just started when it seemed to hit another rock, or a hole, and it jutted to the left side sharply. Hermione almost flew out of the side. Draco barely had a chance to look over at her, because he was having such trouble holding the reins of the horses, which were sprinting away as fast as they could. He yelled at her to hold on to the side.

She yelled at him to watch the road.

The next thing they both knew, Draco bounced out of the curricle, where he hit the ground hard. He looked up as it careened off the road and down the meadow, the horses running wild and fast, Hermione bouncing all around, their basket having already flown out of the back.

He was in a good deal of pain, and he was certain he had broken his wrist, but he reached for his wand, which was in his boot, and he pointed it toward the carriage to try to stop it. He was too late, as it toppled over on its side, spilling its only occupant out, and the horses now dragged the empty curricle over on its side, and far away.

Draco set his wand in the air, and sent off sparks for help. Then he stood up and ran for his wife. She was lying on the ground, in a heap. He thought for one awful moment that she was…no, he would not think it.

She lay there unmoving at first. He wrapped his good arm around her, sat next to her, and pulled her to his lap. She opened her eyes, as he smoothed her hair away from her face. "My love, are you hurt?"

"I was thrown from a curricle, husband. Yes, I am hurt," she said, slightly dazed. "I agree with you, kissing in a curricle can be dangerous."

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. It was not long before he saw many people apparating near them, people who must have seen his sparks for help. At the front of the crowd was Potter. Draco said to her, "I fear our picnic is ruined."

"I fear your curricle is ruined," she said, brushing her hand against his face.

"I fear my wrist is broken," he said.

"I fear my ankle is broken," she returned, "and perhaps a rib."

"I fear we shalln't have any more wooing this afternoon," he said, with remorse.

"I fear that there really will be a flood before we get to consummate our marriage vows tonight," she joked.

Draco feared that he was helpless; once again, he could not help her, but one thing he did not fear was what he would do to the person who was trying to hurt her, because heaven only knew that Draco would surely kill this person just as soon as he found out who the bloody bastard was.

* * *

_A/N: Next up: the marriage really is consummated, and there isn't even a flood...yet._


	21. Chapter 21

**All characters belong to JKR**

**_26, April, 1813, Draco and Hermione alone at night:_**

**_Draco was shocked when he entered the dining room the next night and his wife was sitting at the table. He had not dined with her since the night before she went away, all those months ago. He had not had a chance to dine with her when she returned, because of her accident, and then her recovery._**

**_After the woman left yesterday, he pointedly avoided seeing Hermione. He was not yet ready to reveal things to her. He said, "Are you well enough to take your evening meal at the table? If you are not, I will have it taken to your room." He wanted her to leave the table, but for his sake, not hers._**

**_"Does my husband want me to leave?" she asked. She raised her wine glass to her lips, but then let it drop back down to the table. When he gave her no response, she raised it again, and let it rest upon her bottom lip. He looked at that bottom lip with desire. He still desired his wife, more than anyone would ever know._**

**_He sat at the other end of the long table, but she said, "Draco, have the footmen move your table setting next to mine, please."_**

**_"Is the light better over there?" he asked, playfully._**

**_"No, but I am over here," she said pointedly._**

**_He motioned to the footmen with a nod of his head. One picked up his glass, napkin and silver setting, the other his plates. He sat next to his wife, and motioned that the food should be served._**

**_While waiting for the food, he distractedly moved a signet, emerald ring up and down his fourth left finger. Hermione noticed the action immediately. She looked up at his eyes. He soon looked directly at her._**

**_"I have not seen that ring for a while," she said warily._**

**_"It was returned to me," he said. In truth, he wanted her to notice._**

**_"Do you wish to explain?" she asked._**

**_He bowed his head. The footman on his right was serving the soup. Draco told the man to put the tureen on the table, and then he told all the servants to leave. He took the ring off his finger, set it in front of her and said, "The woman who had that ring was blackmailing me. I am now blackmailing her. Would you like to know why?"_**

* * *

**Chapter 21: 4, August, The Marriage is Consummated: **

The morning of the fourth of August was a bright and beautiful, sunny day. It was one of those rare days that do not often occur in England, so it is coveted, reveled in, and cherished. Hermione and Draco were breaking their fast in the breakfast room, which faced the south side of their property, on that beautiful, sunny morning. Hermione looked out at the garden wistfully and said, "What are we to do today, Draco?"

"I have some business to attend, wife," he said, paying her no mind.

"What shall I do?" she asked.

"Read?" he asked back.

"I am bored of reading," she said. "Perhaps I should take up a study of some kind. I have always wanted to learn more about geography. Perhaps we could hire a good-looking tutor to come and teach me." She glared at him with a daring look. A look that said, 'I am offering you a challenge, do you accept?'

He said, "I believe I have a book you shall borrow on the subject, or I shall teach you all you need to know, about everything." He folded his paper and glared at her.

"But who then shall teach you?" she asked back. "I remember that I was a better student at school than you, husband."

He smirked, picked up his paper, and said, "No good looking tutors, wife."

"Is your wrist healed, Draco?" she asked.

"The healer said it will have no lasting problems," he said, and to demonstrate, he held it in the air, and moved it around.

"My ankle is better," she said.

"That is good, wife," he said. "After all, it has been five days."

"Perhaps we could have riding lessons? I would love to learn to ride a horse," she said.

"Perhaps in a day or two," he said, still reading his blasted paper.

She snatched the paper from him and threw it on the floor. "Maybe I could give you dueling lessons," she said.

"Am I vexing you to the point where you want to hex me, my love?" he asked, now highly amused.

She merely sighed, and propped her chin on her hand. She looked out the window. She sighed once more. "Marriage has not been…" she started, and then stopped.

"Has not been what, wife?" he asked.

"Not what I expected," she said back.

He smiled. He placed the bun he was buttering on the plate, rose, and sat next to her. She gave him a funny look and he said, "The light is better over here. Now, tell me, why has it not what you expected."

"Do not toy with me," she said. Then in a whisper she said, "We have yet to consummate our marriage, and we have been wed for a week."

"Ah, I see," he said with a grin. It was true. Married a week and they had yet to consummate their marriage. He was not too worried about it, but apparently, she was. He took her hand under the table with one of his, reached over for his buttered bun with the other, took a bite, and then said, "We could try our picnic again, after my business this afternoon. The southern part of our property has plenty of shade trees, for coverage, in case we want to make love out of doors."

She gave him a look of absolute disdain, took her hand from his and said, "No making love outdoors!" She pushed her plate away from her, not having eaten a thing, and said, "I am going out to the rose garden!"

"Take one of the Aurors with you," he said. Harry had insisted that Aurors be placed all around their property.

"One of my maids will go with me," she said back, without glancing at him. Under her breath she said, "If you did not have business, you could accompany me." He heard her quite well. He stood quickly, reached for her arm, and turned her on her heels.

"I would feel better if you took an Auror, Hermione."

"I would feel better if you took a jump into the lake, Lord Malfoy." She gave him a sweet smile. He almost wanted to laugh at her bitter tone.

He smiled, leaned toward her, drew his index finger down her face and said, "Are you frustrated sexually?"

She pushed him away and said, "You are crude and crass!"

"I take that's a yes," he said. She felt the same as him, then. Hermione walked out the doors that led to the small, stoned patio, without hat, gloves, pelisse or spencer, and Draco called after her, "At least show some propriety and take a damn escort, even if you do not mean to cover your hands or hair!"

She turned around and frowned at him, and then she walked gingerly down the path. Her ankle must still be bothering her, even though it had been a week.

It had been an exasperating week for Draco, too. He wanted his wife, more than he wanted air to breath. However, he had to be patient. First, there was the matter of healing. She had a broke ankle and a broken rib. He suffered a broken wrist and collarbone. They were both healed now, but that played into the reason why they had yet to share a marriage bed.

Another reason was that he was still afraid for her. The house and grounds had runners all around, both private ones, hired by him and Potter, and Aurors, set up by Potter. There had been no more attempts on her life, but neither had they had any freedom or alone time.

It was difficult to see her at the dinner table, or at night in the drawing room, and not be able to be alone with her. He was quite distracted by the curve of her neck, the sway of her hip, and the hollow of her throat. It took all his resolve not to ravish her right there, every night on the rug in the drawing room, or on the table in the dining room.

Likewise, just last night, she had moved back into her refurbished bedchamber. He knew that she must have thought he would visit her last night, but he had business in London until very late last night, and by the time he came home, she was sleeping.

This was not the marriage either had envisioned.

"Dash it all," he said. He did not have time to grab his hat and gloves, but he meant to follow her. It did not matter, as they were on their own estate. He did not care if he kept his appointment or not. He started after her. He caught her easily enough and when he was finally beside her he said, "I really cannot walk with you this morning, my love. I have another appointment with my solicitor, to see about selling my London town home." He said it without meaning it.

"Who said I want your companionship with me on my walk?" she said. "Who said I even expect it. I rather think this is my marriage now, this lonely, solitude existence that I find myself."

"That is not fair," he said, with a bit of a pout.

"We are never even alone!" she hissed, turning toward him slightly.

"We are alone right now, besides, there is a mad man out to get you," he said, almost with too much jocularity.

"Or a mad woman," she said, "And they might be out to get you," she added. "I think you are the more likely target. You have many enemies, and most of them would indubitably like to kill you. I know I want to kill you right now."

He pulled on her arm to make her stop walking and he said, "What do I owe this ire?"

"You are treating me like a schoolgirl, or an incompetent person. You are keeping things from me, and you are not confiding in me! If you know who is trying to hurt me, it behooves you to tell me. I am not a simpering moron. I can help. I am more than capable."

Her speech touched him, and he knew she was right. However, he really had nothing concrete to tell her. He only had suspicions, which he could not tell anyone, without revealing things about himself that he would rather not reveal, at least not yet. He swallowed hard and then said, "Would you do me the honour of taking a stroll, Hermione? I believe that is part of courtship. Strolling in the woods."

"I am already strolling, content to be alone, Lord Malfoy, and I do not seek your counsel, companionship, or courtship. Also, you will not make me forget this, by being charming and sweet," she said, though he thought she seemed nicer. She almost smiled. Almost. He held out his arm, and she though she had just claimed not to need his company, she placed her hand on it lightly.

They walked for almost an hour, in companioned silence. Finally, Draco said, "You know, wife, I know you are competent. I am not like most Muggle men, and some Wizards. I know women can best men at many things. You have proven that many times over at school and in the war. When I know more about what is happening, I will share with you, you have that on my honour, yes?"

They stopped. He smiled at her in anticipation of her response. He knew she was a passionate person, and she had a giving nature, and he also knew that her sexual innocence was in badly need of awakening, because just the way she looked at him, made him smile in anticipation of tonight. Come hail or high water, he would share the marriage bed with his wife tonight.

Clearing these thoughts, he shook his head and said, "Well?"

"Thank you, husband, I am glad you do not underestimate me. Perhaps I could even teach you a thing or two. I am very good at dueling, you know. Perhaps when we get back to Grey's Hall, we could have a small duel." She walked a few steps ahead of him, when she felt a stinging hex to her arm. She whipped around, just as he had placed his wand back in his boot.

"Do not underestimate me, either, wife." He smiled and then said, "And why should we wait until we are back at Grey's Hall? Do you want the Aurors to help you? Is that why you want to wait?"

"Draw your wand back out, husband," she said.

He smiled and said, "Now, wife, you came out here without your reticule or pelisse. Where is your wand? I refuse to duel an unarmed woman."

"No, but you will hex one," she said. She drew her wand from a long pocket in her skirts so quickly that he did not even see her draw it out.

He leaned down and drew his back out of his long, black, Hessian boot. "Are you going to give me a lesson, Hermione?"

"I could, you know," she promised. They began to circle each other, in the small clearing, both with their wands drawn, held high, pointed at the other. He had a smile on his face, and one eyebrow cocked. She had a look of determination on her face, and her eyes narrowed.

He waited in anticipation. "Where do we begin with this lesson, wife?"

"Where all good lessons, begin," she said back. "The basics. First, do not underestimate your opponent, which I believe has always been your biggest problem."

"Do tell," he rallied, eyebrows raised. "I know it would be sheer idiocy to underestimate you, my dear. Go on. What is next?" They still circled each other.

"We shall learn about defense, and secret attacks. We will learn the strategy behind proper positions, spellwork, and then most importantly, what to do if you lose your wand," she said. As if to demonstrate, before he could do or say anything, she flicked her wrist, and with a silent spell, his wand went from his hand to hers.

He was actually proud of her. "What does one do when one loses ones wand, wife?"

"Why, one begs, of course," she said, holding his wand back out to him.

He grabbed his wand, but then he threw it down on the ground, wrestled hers from her, threw it on the ground, his hands went to her back, and his mouth was on hers suddenly, kissing her hard. He kissed her only a moment when he said, "I never beg."

"What a pity," she said, breathing hard.

"Is it?" he asked, one hand on the back of her neck, the other coming around to her throat. He said, "I have to say, your skill and agility is amazing, Hermione."

"As I am sure is yours," she said.

"Yes, I will give you lessons, similar to these lessons, but my lessons will be on the art of making love, instead of the art of dueling." His mouth skimmed down her cheek. "Do you think you would like that?"

"As long as I do not have to beg," she said playfully.

"I guarantee you will be begging me, Hermione. Do you think you have had enough practice?" he asked, his mouth lightly on hers, but not kissing her.

"I think I am a fast learner," she taunted.

He laughed outright and then to her surprise, he let her go. He bent down, picked up her wand first, handed it to her, then bent down to pick up his own. She looked at the wand in her hand, somewhat confused, when he said, "Raise your wand, Hermione, get ready to defend yourself?"

"Draco?" she asked confused. "Are we going to duel again, or make love?"

He had ever intention of continuing this 'little dueling dance' they had begun, but her question put him quite off kilter. "Oh, hell," he said. He rushed her, grabbed her around the waist, and apparated them directly to his room.

She looked around, still confused. He said, "Tell me, what would you do if an opponent apparated you away someplace to have their wicked way with you?" She seemed flushed, and he loved that. He loved that she challenged him, and that he could verbally, and apparently physically, spar with her. He loved her mind, body and spirit. He wanted her right now, more than he had ever wanted anything.

She answered, "I would wait and see what he had in store for me before I decided on a course of action."

He said, "Now, that should be your first lesson," and he dropped his wand onto the floor. She still had hers, dangling from her hand, which was limp at her side. His hand traveled slowly down her bare arm, to her hand. He peeled her fingers away from her wand, and tossed it on the floor with his own.

"What is my lesson to be?" she asked in a voice full of nerves, and uneven resonance.

"Arousal, passion, desire, and love," he said slowly.

All she could think was…goodness.

Her mouth opened just a bit, as he walked behind her. He unclasped the two small clasps at the top of her gown. He kissed her bare neck. Then his hands went to her hair, where he started to remove her combs and pins. He had her hair down in no time. He spun her around, her hair fanning around her shoulders. He pushed her up against the wall, and placed his hands on the wall beside her head. He pressed his body against hers, his knee separating her legs, beneath her long gown.

He deliberately rubbed his thigh against the junction between her thighs, and then he slipped each hand under her arms, lifting her slightly, so that she scandalously rode his thigh. She moaned slightly, desire rocking her soul, her hands came to his face. She looked shocked. He was sure her shock was at her unbridled passion and abandonment. Perhaps she was shocked at how her own body betrayed her, as it enjoyed its first tremor of passion.

"Draco," she said, pleadingly.

He kissed her again, with enthusiasm and a thirst, which set her body on fire. He was the teacher here. She was the student, and she intended to learn everything from him. He broke their kiss, to look at her…face flushed, eyes bright, lips swollen, chest heaving. She still rode his thigh. He set on down on her feet.

With deliberate slowness, he undressed down to nothing but his breeches and shirt, which he had unbuttoned completely. She remained against the wall, and did nothing in return, but watched him. He finally said, "Does the pupil have any questions for the teacher?"

"Will it hurt?"

That cut him to the quick. Fun and games were over. He wanted to take her hard and quick, but he would be gentle, and go slow, and he never wanted to deliberately hurt her. He hooked a finger under her chin and said, "Some say it hurts a woman the first time. I have never been with a virgin, so I do not know. I will not let anything hurt you, Hermione. I love you."

"You do?" she asked. She pushed him away. He frowned. She walked over to the door and said, "You do not need to say such things to conciliate me. I only asked if there was to be pain. You do not need to offer me false words to cover the fact that it may be uncomfortable." She stared at him, somewhat dazed, but beautiful.

He pulled on one arm, crushing her to his chest. Her eyes widened in fear and excitement. "We will stop our lesson this very instant if you do not believe that I love you."

"Draco?" This time it was a question.

"Do you believe me?"

She nodded.

"Truly, do you?" he asked, a bit perturbed, but more so at himself than her. They had been married a week, and he had yet to say it to her. He should have. However, in all fairness, she had not yet told 'him' either. She told the highwayman. "And do you love me in return, wife?"

"Very much, Draco."

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and then below. Her dress hung low on her shoulders, from where he had loosened the top two clasps in the back. He pulled it down more, so that the tops of her breasts appeared as half moons over the material of her dress. He bent his head, and licked a line across one, and then the other. Her hands went to his shoulders, to steady herself.

He turned her gently, and undid the small line of buttons that held the rest of the dress together. It pooled at her feet. She had on a lacy camisole, over a sheer chemise, and he could tell that she had nothing underneath the chemise. With her back still to him, he knelt. He easily slipped her shoes off her feet first, and placed them under the tall bed. He rolled down one stocking, as she tried to turn her head to watch.

"The first lesson is to not rush things, Hermione," he said. He looked up into her brown, expressive eyes. He placed her stocking on the floor and then with his hands under her chemise, he reached up for the other stocking. It felt almost sinful for his hands to go under her chemise, and to travel down her silky thigh and calf, as he rolled down her stocking.

"Draco?" she said for the third time.

"Do you have a real question, or do you mean to merely say my name?" he asked. She shook her head no. "Then hush." He twisted her body so that she was facing away from him again. He placed his hands on her hips, and kissed her lower spine. He stood up slowly. With her still facing away, he reached in front of them, and began to unlace her camisole. He unlaced it part way, and then he slipped it off her shoulders. It too pooled by her feet. He helped her to step out of it.

Finally, he turned her around. He could see the outline of dusky, pink nipples over pert, full breasts, under her cotton chemise. He threw his shirt on the floor with her clothing. He ran his hands down her shoulders, to her arms, and back up. Then he ran them under and around each round, beautiful mound. She closed her eyes.

"Lesson, two, watch and learn. Open your eyes, Hermione," he said. She did. He reached up to her breasts again, and he outlined her nipples underneath the sheer fabric. His fingertips barely touched her, but her nipples peaked and hardened, and he noticed that she tightened her legs together.

She quivered, trembled, and tried to fold her hands over her breasts. He took her hands from in front of her, and placed them back to her sides. He cupped her breasts again, feeling their fullness, palming them, rubbing his thumbs on the tips. He brought his hands up to her shoulders, and pushed the skimpy garment to the floor.

He took a step back. "You're so beautiful," he said in a husky whisper. He stroked her nipples again, softly, slowly, until they were so sensitive and puckered that she almost whimpered.

"Lesson three, why touch when you can taste?" he asked. He sank down to his knees again. His erection was too tight and it strained against his breeches, but he would not rush this. His mouth kissed around first her right nipple, then her left, as he urged her to sit on the side of the bed. She had to open her legs slightly to make room for him between them. She did not seem to care.

He took a bud in his mouth, his hand on the other, and she almost fell backwards, and would have if his free hand were not on her back, holding her upright. Her hands went to his shoulders, and she clamped down hard with her fingertips.

"Lesson four," he said, looking up at her. "You have to ask for what you want. Tell me what you want, Hermione."

"I want you," she said.

That was what he wanted to hear. Her supple, lissome body was offered to him, to his mouth, hands, and senses, and he intended to take every last inch of it as his own. His mouth went from her breasts, to her stomach, and he leaned her slowly down to lie on the bed, kissing her stomach, waist, and hips as he did so.

She let out a ragged breath and said, "How does our lesson end?"

"It never ends," he said. He brought his hands to her hips, and shifted her to the edge of the bed. He lifted one leg slightly, and draped it over his shoulder. She looked frantic for a moment. He placed a large hand on her stomach, the other one still under her, and he kissed her inner thigh, and down her leg.

He said things such as, "That all right, love," and "You can moan, love." Was she moaning? She was. She even found that she was still repeatedly saying his name. It started as a soft whimper, but turned to a cry when his mouth went between her legs, parting her, and he began to kiss and suckle her private center.

She felt she should protest, or tell him to stop. She was not sure she liked it, but she knew she did not DISLIKE it. His hands were soon gripping her waist and hips, and then he placed them under her buttocks, he got down on his haunches, and he glided his mouth and tongue inside her, even as he then inserted a finger, and then two, to join his mouth.

"No, no, stop it," she began. If he thought she was serious, he would. No, he still would not. He could not. She was panting, and she was sure that something dreadful was building up inside of her. He remained where he was, slowly torturing her, sending heat throughout her entire body. He paid special attention to a bundle of nerves at her center, licking, kissing, sucking, and pressing.

Her body was one raw nerve. She almost forgot how to breathe. She was not sure how much longer she could endure this torture. She began to thrash around, feelings of complete abandonment and exhilaration coursing through him to her. She moaned one loud, long moan, and he finally stopped and crawled up her body. She clutched his shoulders, quaking and shivering. He moved them both so that they were squarely in the center of the bed.

He held her tightly and said, "You are almost ready for me, wife."

"We are not done?" she asked raggedly.

He laughed at her innocence. "Lesson number five, never leave until both parties are satisfied."

She said, "Will I learn to do that to you?"

"Something similar, perhaps, but not today, today is all about lessons in passion and desire, aimed at you, not me," he said. His hand went from her stomach back down to her center, which was wetter than he could imagine. She felt embarrassed, and she clenched her legs.

"Lesson six, there is nothing embarrassing about making love, Hermione," he said, bending his head to kiss her. "Do you wish to finish undressing me?" he asked.

He removed his hands from her to lie on his back. She propped up on her side and her hand when to the opening of his breeches. She could see the strain of his erection against the front. She unbuttoned them with trembling fingers. His manhood sprang out, as he helped her bring his pants down his hips, so they could deposit them on the floor.

She touched it tentatively. It sprang upwards, and out. She had never seen a naked man before. She began to stroke him and he said, "You can hold it tighter." He wrapped his hands around hers. He began to show her the rhythm that he preferred. She seemed highly interested, and true to form, she was a quicker learner.

His hips began to arch from the bed when she lowered her head to kiss the tip. He jerked and said, "What are you doing?"

"Did I do it wrong?"

"No, but, I shall not last if you do that," he said sincerely. She nodded, kept her hand on him, and brought her lips to his chest instead. She kissed his nipples, one and then the other. He closed his eyes. She stopped and looked at him. When she stopped he opened his eyes to look back at her.

"I thought one of the lessons was to watch and learn," she said, sarcastically.

"I already know what to expect, so I do not have to watch," he scolded. She began ardently to kiss him all over. His face, chest, stomach. Her hands were everywhere. He felt as if he had died and gone to paradise.

This woman was alive, and loved him, and he would not lose her, no matter what. That thought broke through their lovemaking and staid him for a moment. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her slightly away from him. "Hermione, do you really love me?" He had to know.

"Lesson seven, always trust what your spouse says in bed," she said with a smile. He smiled back, rolled them over, and braced himself over top of her. He began to kiss her in earnest, as his hand went down to her apex, to glide a finger back inside her. She was still very sensitive from her earlier climax, so it did not take long for her to begin again.

He braced himself over her, nudged her legs open with his own, and began to rub his full length over her mound, to wet her completely, and to ready her for him. He let some of his weight drop on her and said, "I am sorry if this causes you pain."

"You could never hurt me," she said. "Not intentionally."

"Remember that thought," he said, meaning many things with that comment. He positioned himself at her opening. He gazed down at her. He had loved her for so long. He had wanted her for so long. He had thought he would never have her, and did not deserve her, for so long, and now, he almost felt he had her under false pretenses, but that could not be changed now.

Very gently, he glided into her. She winced a bit, opened her eyes wider, and then closed them altogether. She bit her bottom lip to stifle a cry, and after that, she did not make a sound. He pressed forward, kissing all around her face. He did not move for the longest time. He wanted her to become accustomed to his size. It took all his willpower to remain still.

"Are you fine?" he asked.

She nodded. She began to relax. He felt her tightness relax around him, and after a mere moment, her hips began to move, and so did his. His rhythm was careful, deliberate, and meant to bring her to the pinnacle of passion. Slowly, he claimed her, with zeal and tenderness, which he never thought possible.

Her nails bit into his shoulders, and her legs came up and wrapped instinctually around his hips, to urge him closer. He got up on his arms, and he pounded himself into her further, and harder. She began to cry out, and she moved with him, until a final jolt of passion came whirling around them both. He continued his pursuits even as she laid there spent and helpless.

After several more moments, he dropped down upon her. She placed her arms around him, and he kissed her all around her face. He moved to his side, pulled her to him, and placed his leg over her. He said more words of love to sooth her, coax her body down from the shuddering trembling from which it came.

"Did you learn anything from our lesson, wife?" he asked.

She did not respond. He opened his eyes, looked down at her, and she was asleep, safely in his arms. He smiled. Even if she had not learned anything, he had. He could not describe the feelings he felt, even if someone had given him a million years to do so. He learned that he felt protectiveness for her that went beyond love. She was truly his now, her mind, body and soul, and no one would ever take her from him. No one. That was not even a possibility.


	22. Chapter 22

**All characters belong to JKR**

**_26, April, 1813, Hermione Alone:_**

**_Hermione could scarcely believe what her husband had just told her. Her own stepmother had been blackmailing him, but he said that she claims she had nothing to do with any of her accidents. He also said that her blackmail had stopped, long ago._**

**_Apparently, Hermione's father left her stepmother nothing. It was not a fact Hermione had known. Draco had given the woman Hermione's dowry when they wed, which would have been enough to keep the woman comfortable for the rest of her days, but apparently, it was not enough to keep her in the lap of luxury, so she wanted more._**

**_Therefore, the blackmail began. Draco said that Mrs. Granger would not tell him how she found out that he was the highwayman, but find out she did, though he claims that was a recent discovery, and that her blackmail was regarding their marriage, and had nothing to do with the highwayman._**

**_That still did not explain the ring. Draco said that he never gave the other woman his ring. He claims he stole it from them, and then it was stolen from him, still, the last time Hermione saw it, it was on the hand of another, on the night that she left her husband, all those months ago._**

**_Her head was spinning. She had more questions than answers. Hermione sat at her desk and wrote down three things on a piece of parchment. Number 1: "How and when did her evil stepmother find out Draco was the highwayman?" Number 2: "Did the blackmail have anything to do with the attempts on their lives?" and Number 3: "When will it end?" She decided something. The woman who came and saw her the other night claimed innocence, though she claimed she had knowledge as to who wanted to harm Hermione and why. Draco dismissed her claims, and said that the girl did not know a thing._**

**_Hermione begged to differ. She called her maid Abby into the room._**

**_"Yes, Madam?"_**

**_"Abby, I need you to help me to dress. I need to go into the village and visit someone. No one must know that I am gone."_**

**_The girl looked pensive. "But you are still unwell," she began._**

**_"It is a matter of life or death, Abby. I trust you. Please, will you help me?" she asked._**

**_The girl nodded, however she was going to make sure that Lord Malfoy knew what his wife had planned._**

* * *

**Chapter 22: 5, August 1812, The Day After Consummation: **

Hermione opened her eyes and she felt confused. Where was she? There was a small ray of light coming from a large bay window, but she barely saw any of said light as she was sleeping in a large canopy bed, and the curtains were drawn. She tried to sit up, but something heavy lay across her waist, holding her in place.

She turned her head and looked into the eyes of her husband, who was awake, and smiling. She looked down, and his arm was around her waist. Then, she smiled, blushed, and placed both hands over her face.

He pulled one hand away from her face, while she began to laugh. "What is so funny, Hermione?"

"Nothing," she said. She curled up into a ball. He kissed her cheek, pulled the other hand away, and kissed the other. She looked straight into his eyes, and they were both still smiling. "This is marriage," she proclaimed. It was a statement of fact. She was not asking a question.

"Yes, it is," he agreed. His fingertips traveled from her shoulders, down her arm, to clasp her hand. He kissed her palm, and then placed her hand on his chest. "This is what I always wanted from a wife. Love, companionship, friendship."

"A family," she said. "I've wanted a family, for so long. After my mother died, my father was so distant, but then when he married my stepmother, and he brought her and Gabby into our home, and I thought I would finally have a family again, but I did not. I did not have that until last night, with you."

She tucked her head into his chest. He stroked her back and hair. "I am happy that we are a family." He hardly knew what else to say. He was sublimely happy, and it was an emotion with which he was not acquainted, as he had never had anything resembling happiness in his life before now. He held her tightly, and he knew that there were still something dangerous out there, someone who wanted to harm her, and he would never let that happen, as long as he had air to breathe.

"Shall we meet the day?" Hermione asked, quietly.

"We can spend the day in bed," he said, but then he nixed the idea. "No, we cannot. I forgot. My appointment with the Ministry is rescheduled for today." He began to sit up. He stretched with his back to her. She placed her hand on his back, and let it travel down his spine. It felt like such an intimate movement. He reveled in that. He opened all the curtains of the bed with his wand, and then he opened the curtains on the window as well. The room was soon awash with light and an earthy-early morning glow. He turned back to look at her. She was on her back, one arm above her head, her hair surrounding her head on the pillow like a crown. She looked so beautiful in the morning light. He wanted nothing more than to go back to her, make love to her again, all day if he could, but he had to keep this appointment.

He stood up and placed a dressing gown over his body, as he walked over to the basin, to begin his toilette. She propped herself up on her elbow, and said, "You never told me the business of this appointment."

"I did not? Are you sure?" he asked. He went to his dressing room. She sat up, the sheet under her arms. He walked out of the dressing room, fresh clothes in his hand.

"Draco, is there something wrong?" she asked.

"Not in the least," he said. "It pertains to our wedding, the sanctions and all. I have some more papers to sign." Thus far, he was not lying to her. He pulled on his breeches. "It also has to do with my father's belongings." He sat on the bed, and began to button his shirt. She sat behind him, the sheet still around her body.

"What about your father's belongings?" she asked. "They were all seized after the war, were they not?"

He cleared his throat, unnecessarily. He was not aware that she knew of that. He stood up to wrap his cravat around his throat. Usually, his valet helped him to dress. He found he was all fingers thing morning. He tied and untied the necktie twice, to no avail. Hermione stood up, padded over to him, sheet secure around her middle, and she tied his neckclothe efficiently and beautifully.

"My father's valet could never tie a decent cravat," she claimed. She helped him button his waistcoat, and then she said, "Now, what were you saying about your father's belongings?"

"Just that the Ministry has ruled that all of the things that have not already been given to others will be returned to me. Perhaps they realize that since I was on the right side during the war, they should not penalize me," he said.

"What of the things that have already been given to others? Like your father's carriage?" she asked.

"Well, that was burned by the highwayman, was it not?" he asked lightly, as he put on his coat. He grabbed his gloves and hat.

"I mean, of the things that were given to others? Will they be returned to you?" she asked.

She knew more than he realized. "I would not think so," he said truthfully. She frowned. "What?" he asked.

"I just think it is utterly unfair that they took your belongings from you, and that they are just now giving them back. The war has been over for years. Why wait to give them back to you now?" she asked.

The truth was that they were just giving them back now as 'payment' for marrying her. He ushered her to the bed and took her hands. She continued with, "But I guess they are just material things, and material things are not so very important, in the scheme of things, not when measured with love and happiness."

Truer words were never uttered, he thought. Why was she not here to say them before all the madness of the highwayman started? He might not have stolen a thing to begin with, if he had her love from the beginning, and he would not be facing all of these lies and this blackmail debacle.

He said, "Hermione," but then he said no more. He saw no reason he had to tell her a thing. He kissed her hands and finished with, "After I return, we will continue our courtship."

"We have already shared the marriage bed, yet you intend to continue to court me?" she asked, surprised.

"Of course," he said with a smirk. "The pursuit is where the fun is, my love." He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her mouth once more, hard. Then he said, "Best get bathed and dressed, before I forget about my appointment and ravish you again."

He walked with a determined step down the hallway. He told his man Pyle that after his meeting with the Ministry, he was going to meet Madam Granger, nay DeLacour, and would they please have Mr. Potter meet him at her house. He did not like Harry, and he was not sure he wanted to reveal that the woman was blackmailing him into paying her money for marrying Hermione, but he truly wanted this over with, and Harry could help. Moreover, there were worse things…the woman could know that he was the highwayman. If that were the source of her blackmail, Draco would have to pay her forever.

Hermione remained in Draco's bed alone for another few moments. She hugged his pillow, bringing it up to her nose, and smelling it deeply. It smelled like him. She hopped out of bed, looked around for her chemise, slipped it on, and then began to look around his room. She had yet to have a good look at it, and she found anything to do with her husband fascinating.

She fingered a book on geography by his bedside table. She walked over to his dressing table, and picked up mother-of-pearl cufflinks. She placed them back down, and opened up a small, wooden box. Inside was an emerald signet ring. She picked up the ring, and her heart thumped loudly in her chest. She had seen this ring before…several times.

Draco used to wear it during school. He used to brag that it was a family heirloom, and claimed it was passed down from Malfoy male to Malfoy male for many generations. He once bragged that it was worth many thousands of galleons. The emerald was pure, the gold was goblin forged, and signet engraved many centuries ago, by ancient magic.

She held it in her hand, and then clenched her fingers around it. She saw it again when they met during the war, when they fell in love. He had once told her that he could not wait to pass it down to his son someday. She recalled that when he spoke of such things, she had hoped it would be 'their' son.

The last time she saw it, it was the night before she came back to London. Her stepmother showed it to Gabby, and said that it was given to Gabby's father as payment for his giving up hiding places of Death Eaters after the war. She even gloated that it once belonged to the Malfoys. Hermione remembered feeling sick when she overheard the conversation. That was how she knew that Draco's family's things had been seized. She did not let either Gabby or her stepmother know that she had overheard them talking that day. She had never told a single soul.

How was it that something that had been given to her stepmother, was now back in the possession of her husband? She was confused. She kept the ring in her hand, and opened the door between their rooms, to enter her own. She had a lot to consider before she saw her husband again.

Harry and Draco walked away from Madam Granger's house in a hushed horror. Draco had a stern look on his face, a look of complete repugnance. Harry had a look of revulsion. When they reached the end of the steps, Harry said, "You bought my best friend for a few thousand pounds, Malfoy."

"Hardly. That woman makes it seem worse than it is," he said. "But do you see what I mean? How can I get out from under her thumb? I have already reverted Hermione's dowry to the woman, and I gave her a large cash settlement of many thousand gallons as well, and now, if I do not agree to give her a monthly allowance, she will tell Hermione about the dowry, and that I 'bartered' for her. She will even tell Hermione that the Ministry is giving me back my father's things for her hand in marriage. She will make it seem that is the reason I married her! You know how fiercely independent your friend is. She will not take it well."

Draco started down the sidewalk toward his carriage, when Harry took his arm. "What else are you hiding, Malfoy?"

He was hardly going to tell Potter that he was the highwayman, and since no one else seemed to know that yet, he said, "Nothing, but that is enough, do you not think?"

"Then pay the woman off. You have the money. I do not know what else to tell you. I cannot believe she suggested that you have your marriage to Hermione annulled, and marry Gabby instead, and that in exchange, she would never ask for another galleon. Is the woman mad?" Harry asked. "Really?"

"I am glad you were my witness," Draco said. "No, I shall not pay. I will buck up the courage, and tell Hermione the truth. Let the old woman rot for all I care. Hermione will be angry, but she loves me, and I her. It is time for the truth."

"Draco Malfoy and the truth?" Harry said, mulling over those words. "I never thought I would hear those words in the same sentence.

"Go to hell, Potter."

"Only if you go there, first, Malfoy," Harry said, though he smiled. "Truly, Hermione will be angry, but she is happy to be your wife, for some insane reason, so she will not mind that you, as you said, bartered for her. Tell her the truth, and get that vulture off your windowsill." Harry patted his arm, and started down the street.

Draco started to enter his carriage, when he spied something curious. It was his wife's new maid, Marie, the one that was previously Gabby's maid. She was walking around the back of Madam Granger's London townhouse. What business would the girl have here, if she were no longer under the woman's employ? He called out to her. She looked up, saw Draco, and then she looked afraid. She ran down the street, away from him, without a backwards glance.

Draco looked after the girl, confused. He got back in his carriage, and told his coachman to hurry home.

Hermione was sitting outside, reading a book, when she felt hands on her eyes. "I must warn you, Mr. Highwayman, my husband will be home, soon."

Draco dropped his hands, alarmed, and she turned to look at him. She smiled, but when she saw that he looked shocked, she said, "I was joking, husband." However, now she was beginning to have qualms again. Surely, Draco could not be the highwayman. He had denied it so completely and there was so much proof against it. No, the whole business with the ring had her feeling apprehensive and chary, that was all.

He said, "I asked Cook to bring our lunch out here. I thought we could eat alfresco. Would you like that?" He sat down beside her at the white, scrolled table and chairs.

She merely nodded and folded her book. "Draco, remember that emerald signet ring that you wore during the war?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes, I recall it," he said. He picked up her book and looked at the title. He laughed and said, "This is the book from my bedside table, wife. I would like it returned."

"Yes, yes, fine, fine." She seemed agitated, so he put the book down and held her hand. He thought she looked like she had more she wanted to say. In fact, she did not know how to phrase the question she wanted to ask, so she was quiet for a moment.

"Hermione, what do you want to know about it?" he asked.

She held the front of his jacket with her free hand and said, "That last time we met, during the war, before everything that happened at the Manor, you had that ring on, and you told me that you wanted to pass that ring down to your son someday, remember? I just wondered, where is that ring today?"

"So my wife does like jewelry after all?" he said with a smile. "I will buy you diamonds, pearls, rubies, anything, love."

"I know you would, but I do not care for such things. I just wanted to know, what happened to that ring. It was not seized was it?" she asked.

He was beginning to wonder why she was asking about it. Had she seen it upstairs in his room, or was she merely curious. Did she know that her stepmother's husband had been given it after the war? The only reason Draco knew that little tidbit was that he stole it shortly after Hermione's father and stepmother married. No, she could not know that it had been seized, or stolen back, because she was too honest, too good, and she would not ask these types of leading questions if she knew the truth about the ring. She would come right out and tell him what she knew. She must just be curious.

"It was seized, dear heart," Draco said. Yes, another lie, but he did not know what else to say to her.

"Will it be returned?" she asked.

"I will find out," he said, with a sort of sad smile, because he hated lying to her. "But chances are that it was given away, along with many other things. I may have to be content with the things that I am given back, wife."

"They are just material things, after all, husband," she said again, repeating what she had said earlier.

One of the downstairs maids brought out a tray of food, as a footman bought out a decanter with wine. "Ah, our lunch," Draco said, eager to divert his wife's attention away from the ring as another footman placed plates in front of them. Draco took the top off the tray and said, "These meat pies look delicious!" One was placed on each of their plates, just when another tray was uncovered by Hermione to reveal treacle tarts and whipped crème on the side.

Hermione almost jumped for joy and said, "I love treacle tarts!"

Draco grimaced. "I cannot stand them. I have always hated anything with molasses."

"Really, how odd," she said, taking one of the tarts.

He hit her hand with his fork. "Draco that hurt!"

"Eat your meat pie first, wife."

"I am an adult, and as such, if I want pudding first, pudding I shall have," she said, defiantly.

"Yes, that was said ever so much like an adult," he said with fake disdain. She cut into the tart, the syrup dripped from her fork; she moved it back and forth under his nose.

"Does it not smell divine?" she said. She put the piece in the whipped crème, and then she took a big bite. "Oh, heaven on earth, divine."

"Better than making love?" he asked.

The maid blushed and looked down. She thought one of the footmen laughed. Hermione said, "DRACO! The servants!"

"Are good English servants and are trained not to hear a thing. Oi, you do not hear anything I am saying, do you, footman?" he asked the footman, taking a bite of meat pie.

"No, my lord."

"See, he is literally deaf," Draco said with a smile.

"Then how did he answer your question?" Hermione asked back.

"He hears only what he is meant to hear. For instance, if I say that I utterly love and adore you, he would not hear a thing. For example," Draco looked back at the man and said, "Footman, do I utterly love and adore my wife?"

"I would not know, my lord," the young man said.

Hermione took another bite of treacle tart and said, "Please, do not encourage my dimwitted husband."

"He did not hear you malign my character, darling," Draco said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I pay his wages," Draco said seriously. He said, "Footman, did you hear my wife say that I was dimwitted?"

"Not at all, sir," he said, although he smiled.

Hermione huffed, and took even a bigger bite. Draco leaned over to kiss her and said, "Do you want to prove the theory that they are blind as well? Just let me kiss you, and I'll show you."

"No," she said rather adamantly. She pushed away from the table.

"What's wrong, dear heart?" he asked.

"I think perhaps I should have not eaten pudding first," she said, "for I feel a wee bit ill." Draco thought she looked ill as well. He signaled for a footman to clear her plate away, and he stood, and helped her to stand. She suddenly held her stomach. "Draco, I feel very ill." He nodded, and placed his arm around her to help her through the doors that led to the morning room. They had just crossed the threshold, when she cried out in pain. He picked her up and carried her to a settee.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

"Draco, the pain," was all she managed to say. The footmen had started past them with the trays, when Draco stood and stopped them.

"No! Leave the trays here! Call the Aurors, and a Healer, now!"


	23. Chapter 23

**all characters belong to JKR**

_**6, April, 1813, Hermione waiting for answers:**_

**_When the woman came to Hermione's home, claiming innocence, wanting to explain, Hermione received her. True, she had no choice, as the woman barged in unannounced. True, Hermione was in no condition to leave the room unattended. Yes, when Draco became aware that the woman was there, he ushered her out of the house, that much was true. Still, Hermione heard her out, as much as she was able. Now, Hermione came to her, and she keeps Hermione waiting for over an hour._**

**_"Perhaps we should go, Mistress. You truly look unwell," Abby complained. She wondered where Lord Malfoy was. She was not able to find him before they left in the carriage, so she told his man Pyle what the Lady of the house had planned. Surely, Pyle had informed Lord Malfoy by now. The young girl was worried._**

**_Hermione could tell Abby was troubled, and she shared the girl's anxiousness. She felt slightly faint, and flushed as well. She reached in her dress for her wand, to make certain it was there, though she had done the same thing several times already._**

**_Finally, the two women heard the door to the room where they were sitting open, but instead of a woman entering, a man entered, and Hermione's heart plummeted. Abby was right. They never should have come._**

**_The man smiled and said, "Don't be afraid, Hermione. I promise not to hurt you. However, your maid really must not be here." He looked at the young girl and pointed his wand. Hermione winced, in her mind saying, 'please no.' However, instead of the death curse, he uttered another. The girl slipped over in her chair, unconscious. He walked up to Hermione and scooped her into his arms. He said, "What an awful lot of trouble you have been from day one. Nonetheless, I am so glad my friend and his accomplice was never able to kill you. That would have been a shame." He kicked open the door to that room, and started toward the front door of the house._**

**_Just then, the woman Hermione came to visit appeared at the doorway she said one thing. "Leave her here! That was the plan!"_**

**_This woman was not as lucky as Abby. The man raised his arm with his wand, and before Hermione could say a word, he said, "Crucio!" and the woman fell over in pain and agony. Hermione screamed and tucked her face into the man's chest. He lifted the curse, as the woman passed out from the pain, and fell over in a heap on the floor. The man stepped over the body and once on the steps, disapparated them both away._**

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**Chapter 23: 5, August 1812, The Mystery Continues: **

Hermione clutched her stomach. The pain was immense. It was stabbing, and burning. It felt as if a hole was burning through her stomach to her back. She was sweating profusely, and she felt the urge to vomit. She rocked back and forth on the settee where Draco placed her. He brushed her hair back from her face. He continued to ask her if she was all right, and what was wrong. She was in too much pain to answer.

The pain started in her abdomen, burned straight threw to her back, but then began to radiate throughout her body. She said, "Draco, help me." He knelt beside her, brushed back her hair once more, and placed a kiss on her forehead. How was he to help her? How was he to stop this madness?

Ellis came into the room, and finally said to one of the footmen, "Remove those blasted trays!"

Only Abby had the forethought to say, "Wait, the treacle tart!"

Draco turned from Hermione to the girl. "What about them?"

"I was with Cook earlier. She did not prepare treacle tart for lunch, and yet there is a half-eaten treacle tart on the tray. That is the Mistress' favourite, yet how did it get there if Cook did not prepare it. Perhaps someone poisoned her."

The Aurors, followed by Harry Potter and a Healer, came rushing into the room. Draco looked at Harry and said, "I believe someone poisoned her with the treacle tart."

Harry looked at one of the Aurors, who picked up the tray and ran with it from the room. The Healer asked Draco to move his wife up to her bedroom. Not wanting to waste a moment, he picked her up in his arms, and disapparated them directly to her bedchamber.

It seemed like hours had past, though it probably was closer to fifteen minutes. Draco paced at the end of her bed, as the Healer, along with his valet Pyle, and another man, administered potion after potion, and said spell after spell. Nothing seemed to work. He looked up at his wife as another cry of pain escaped her lips. She howled like an injured animal. She sobbed in agony.

The Healer took him aside. Harry Potter, who was standing in the corner, along with Bill and Ron Weasley, came to them as well. The Healer said, "We are at a loss. The tart was poisoned, that much is true, but it is not a recognizable poison. Instead of just a poison, it appears she was cursed. The pain, which was just in her stomach, has spread throughout her body. It is making its way throughout all her nerve endings. She is in an insurmountable amount of pain. Imagine the Crucio curse, magnified tenfold. That is what she is experiencing."

Upon hearing those words, Draco screamed, "ENOUGH!" He grabbed the man's robes and shouted, "Just make it stop!"

"Sir, I am trying. I have already administered Healing spells, and given her potions for pain. The man I called, who is helping your man Pyle, is an expert at Dark Spells and Curses. He thinks he may know what curse was used, but he needs to leave, to exam the poisoned tart." As the Healer said that, the other man walked past them, and out of the room. "He is leaving now to do just that," the Healer explained. "We do not have much time. I am not certain how much longer she can withstand the pain."

All four men looked over at Hermione. She was still crying out, and withering on the bed. Pyle was practically holding her down.

Harry asked, "Can you give her something more for the pain? Is there a spell or charm?"

"Or something to disperse the poison?" Ron asked.

"We have tried everything," the Healer explained.

Draco rushed to the bed, and shouldered Pyle to the side. He grabbed his wife's hands. She did not seem to be aware that he was there. He said, "Hermione, look at me. Focus on me. Please, hear my voice, and look in my eyes."

She cried, "It hurts, it hurts so much." She finally looked at him and she said, "Draco, take your wand and kill me. I cannot live with the pain."

"I cannot, I cannot…" he dropped his head, held her hands, and felt her anguish. He looked back up at her and said, "Sh, hush, love." She cried and moaned. She continued to beg someone to take a wand to her. She cried for her mother and father. She cried and cried. It broke her husband's heart.

Finally, Harry said to the Healer, "There is a Muggle medicine, for pain. It is called laudanum. It may help. Could you try that?"

The Healer said, "At this point, I would try anything, my Lord." He left the room quickly, as did Ron and Bill. Harry went back to his corner, to watch in silent agony, his empathy for his friend holding his rage at bay for the moment. If Draco did not find the fiend who was doing this quickly, then Harry would find them, and make them pay.

The Healer arrived back shortly, and administered the laudanum. Draco watched as his wife's pain finally eased, her eyes closed, and she fell into a deep sleep. The man explained to Draco that they could not give her much, but they would continue to give it to her until they found the counter-curse. Draco merely nodded, but he was relieved. He was not certain how much longer he could watch her pain.

Harry gave Draco a look, and then with a jerk to his head, motioned toward the door. Abby said, "I'll wait with her, Sir."

Draco started out the door with Harry, but turned back to Abby and said, "Abby, has anyone seen Marie today?"

"She gave her notice this morning, Sir. She is no longer in your wife's employ." She curtseyed, and then went to sit by Hermione, on her bed. She held Hermione's hand. Draco thought that was improper, but he found the young girls affection for his wife admirable, so he did not say anything about the impropriety of it.

Draco went out to the hallway and Harry said, "Who would want to hurt Hermione, and why?"

"Potter, if I knew, do you not think I would stop it?" Draco asked with his voice raised.

"Are you certain it is not her stepmother?" Harry asked.

"Hermione's marriage to me is apparently her bread and butter at the moment. Why would she want to destroy her main source of income?" Draco spat back.

"What would she gain if you annulled your marriage to Hermione and married her youngest daughter, as she suggested to us earlier?" Harry asked with ire.

"I suppose she feels that would give her permanent access to my deep pockets!" Draco said. "What are you implying?"

"I imply nothing, I am only wondering things, Malfoy. You have an enemy, that much is true, but when your enemy tries to kill my best friend, they become my enemy, and that is something I cannot abide!" Harry said. He pushed Draco with one hand, toward the wall. Draco stumbled slightly. "Go to the old woman tonight, and put an end to the blackmail, one way or another. Then we will see if this continues!"

"I told you I was planning to put an end to it! I had planned to tell Hermione everything tonight!" Draco said. He walked toward the other side of the hall and said, "I wonder if the squib maid, Marie, has anything to do with this."

"Why would you ask that?"

"She was here the night of the fire, and the other accidents as well," Draco said.

"As were many others," Harry pointed out, "and as you just said, she is a squib, and according to Hermione's maid, she is no longer here."

"That does not mean she could not have had entrée here today. I saw her at Mrs. Granger's house after our meeting this afternoon. I called to her, but she seemed afraid and she ran away," Draco said.

"Then we will find her and question her," Harry said. "I will go with another Auror now. I will send Bill to question his mother-in-law, if I have your permission to tell him about the blackmail." Draco nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "You stay here with Hermione. If she wakes, she will need you." Harry started down the hallway, but then turned around and said, "But know this, Malfoy, if we cannot discover soon what is happening, then I think you need to send her away. Do you understand? It will be for her own good. You cannot just tell her you are sending her away for her safety. You must make it seem like a clean break, and I will suggest that she go to her Muggle cousin, the one that inherited her father's land and title. I will make certain she is protected there."

"I cannot send her away, not when I finally found her again!" Draco hissed.

"Even if it means she will live? Even if it means she will be out of danger? Think on it, Malfoy. Think of someone besides yourself for a change. Your wife's safety and life must come first." On that sad note, Harry turned on his heel and walked away.

The morning came, and the Healer administered the third dose of laudanum. Hermione tossed and turned. The man said that the pain was intensifying, that she needed larger doses for comfort, and soon the doses would be too large, and they would have to stop, because the medicine was too dangerous to continue to give. The other man, who was helping the Healer, came into the room and quickly went to Hermione's bedside. Draco left her room so they could attend her.

Draco began to roam the halls of Grey's Hall. He heard a commotion downstairs, and he ran down the steps to see what it was. There was Mrs. Granger, in the foyer, and Ellis and Draco's man Pyle were both trying to restrain her.

Draco ran down the stairs, his wand drawn. "What are you doing here, you evil woman!"

"My son-in-law told me that you think I am the source of Hermione's accidents! How could you think that?" she cried out.

"Because of your blackmail, which I must inform you, stops here and now!" Draco said, his wand still pointing at the woman's chest. Behind her stood Gabby, who was crying, and Bill and Fleur. Ron Weasley, who was still in the house, soon joined the ranks of everyone in the entry hall.

Bill said, "She insisted that I bring her here, so she could tell you in person that she has nothing to do with harming Hermione."

"And you believe her?" Draco asked, incredulously.

Harry arrived back to Grey's Hall at that precise moment, young Marie in tow. Mrs. Granger stared at the girl, pointed at her, and said, "Ask her! She knows! Tell them, Marie. Tell them that I had you in this household only to spy for me, and that you told me about the sanctions and the fact that Lord Malfoy was receiving payment for marrying Hermione, and that in exchange for marrying her, he was receiving his father's things back, but that is all! I am not trying to hurt her!"

Marie, whose arm was held by Harry Potter, looked at Draco with confusion. Mrs. Granger rushed up to her and shouted in her face. "Tell him, you stupid, stupid girl! Tell him that I only wanted money! Tell them all that I asked for money in exchange for him marrying her! Tell them that I asked for her dowry, and that I asked for more money when I found out, from you, I might add, that he was getting his father's things returned to him by marrying her because she is Muggle-born! Tell them all that you were part of that plan, but that was our only plan! We never set out to harm her! Tell them!"

The girl looked at Draco and then at Mrs. Granger again, then she looked up the stairs, although no one seemed to notice this action, except for three people who were now standing on the landing at the top of the stairs. She held up her hand, to reveal a ring on her finger.

She said, "I only have one thing to say. Lord Malfoy and Mrs. Granger gave me this ring just today, as payment. They gave it to me to force me to leave here, so that I would keep silent about the fact that I was to help aid Lord Malfoy in the marriage to Hermione Granger. In addition, when I found out that Mrs. Granger and Lord Malfoy were perpetrating the accidents against her Ladyship, they gave me this ring to keep me quiet. They wanted Lady Malfoy to die, so that the rest of her inheritance, which is in a trust fund set up by her father, and in which Lord Malfoy is administrator, will go to him. Also, with his father's things returned to him, he would be free to marry Gabby, if her Ladyship was dead."

"Mama, is that true?" Fleur asked, shocked. Gabby continued to cry, and Bill held her in his arms. Marie looked pointedly at Gabby, who was crying harder yet. Her eyes narrowed, and then she looked back up the stairs briefly.

"I know of no trust fund! I know of no other monies, besides the dowry, which Malfoy signed over to me!" Mrs. Granger said.

Harry frowned and said, "Malfoy? Is there a large trust fund?"

Draco shook his head, but said, "Yes, fine, there is! After I got permission to marry her from Mrs. Granger, I went to her Muggle cousin, since he was now head of her Muggle family, and he inherited her father's title, and he told me about it. He set me up as administrator, but I hardly need Hermione's money! And I never told Mrs. Granger about that! I haven't even told Hermione, so I have no idea how this girl knows about it!"

"How can I believe that, Malfoy? You've lied so many times," Harry said.

"Yes, I have! I lied to get her hand in marriage! I lied about the trust fund, I lied about the dowry, I lied about the sanctions, and I lied about the fact that the Ministry was awarding my father's things back to me in exchange for her hand! I have lied! I cannot turn back time, and undo the damage. I wish I could, but I cannot, but that does not mean that anything this girl has said is the truth!"

Harry was quiet for a moment, but then he said, "I think I have no choice." He looked at the Aurors and said, "Arrest Mrs. Granger, and Lord Malfoy."

"WAIT!" Draco shouted. "The girl is lying, Potter! You have to know that! I love my wife! I would never kill her! I could care less if I ever get my things returned to me! I have my own money! I don't need hers! Why would I want to marry Gabby Delacour? I hardly know the girl!"

The squib Marie looked up the stairs for the third time. Harry looked up, and soon, everyone else did as well. Draco was shocked to find his wife standing at the top of the landing, the Healer on her one side, the other man on the other. The Healer said, "The counter-curse worked, and we've been standing here the entire time and we've heard everything."

Draco looked into the face of his wife and he knew…he knew that he had lost her. All of his lies were coming back to haunt him, and even though everything this woman had said were lies as well, Hermione would never believe him now. He started up the stairs, but she held out her hand.

He stopped. He said, "You only need to tell me one thing. I will not ask you to believe me right now, even though I want you to know that she is lying. However, I need you to tell me if you still love me. Do you love me, wife?" He waited for her response. Everyone in the foyer looked up expectantly, also waiting.

Hermione looked crushed. She said, "You married me to get back your fortune, Draco. That is the only reason you married me. Love had nothing to do with it. After you married me, then what would happen? You get your things returned, as a payment for marrying the number one Mudblood, and then instead of divorcing me, which probably would never do, you get me out of the way by killing me? You want to marry Gabby because she is pureblood, is that so? Well, you can have her."

"NO!" he yelled. "Answer my bloody question! Do not stand there and accuse me! I have lied many times, about many things, but none of these things is true, but I do not care about that, I only care for one truth! Madam, do you love me?"

"You have shown me your true colours at last. You are a blackguard, and an utter coward. You are a liar, and a cad to the tenth degree. You have betrayed me one too many times. I shall never forgive you for your betrayal, and no," she said softly. "I do not. I do not love you, Lord Malfoy." She could lie, also.

From the bottom of the stairs, he swore and said, "Call me Husband!"

"Lord Malfoy!" she said defiantly.

Draco started to run up the stairs, but one of the Aurors sent out magical restraints at the order of Harry Potter. Harry said, "Take him and Mrs. Granger away." Draco yelled and screamed for his wife the whole time he was taken out of Grey's Hall. Another Auror took a screaming Mrs. Granger out of the Hall as well.

Harry ran to Hermione's side, and said, "I will help you pack. I have already spoken to your cousin. He has agreed that you should come and stay with him for a while."

Bill took his wife and his sister-in-law into the confines of his arms, and said, "I am so sorry about your mother, my loves. Let me take you home and away from such madness."

One of the Aurors stood by, holding the arm of Marie. Abby stood in the foyer, along with Draco's valet Pyle. Pyle looked at Marie and said, "You disgust me. Get this filth off of my master's property." He was determined to prove his master's innocence. He stormed up the stairs.

The Auror started out of the door with Marie, but Abby said, "Wait!" They turned around. Abby ran up to them and said, "Why did you lie?"

"I did not lie," she said.

"I know you did, and I will prove it," she said, "and you will be sorry."

Marie said, "Sometimes a person has to lie to protect other people. There are greater evils than lying. There is also still someone out there who wants to hurt your mistress, and this person will hurt me if I so much as breathe a word of what I really know. Please, protect her."

Marie burst into tears, as the Auror led her away. Abby ran upstairs to be with Hermione, to help her pack.

Once she was packed, and ready to go, Hermione waited on her bed for the carriage. She felt numb. She tried to relive the last half an hour over in her head. Marie had Draco's ring on her finger. The ring she just found in Draco's room this morning, which meant that Draco must have just given it to her this afternoon.

Draco lied to her. He lied about so many things. She wondered now if perhaps he _**was**_ the highwayman. Marrying her was an easier way of retrieving his father's belongings…easier than robbing houses with a mask at night. Hermione felt like such a fool.

Abby walked into Hermione's bedchamber, curtseyed to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, who were to accompany them to her ladyship's Muggle cousin's, and said, "The carriage is ready, Mistress."

Hermione nodded and walked out of the room, with Harry on one side, and Ron on the other.

Abby was to go with her, but she had a goodbye to make first. She knocked on the door to Lord Malfoy's room. Pyle opened the door.

Abby said, "This is an awful mess."

"The chit is lying!" Pyle said. "Lord Malfoy did not try to kill his wife! I have witnessed how much he pined for her, all those years, and how much he has loved her! I only wish I had proof!"

"Then get proof, and get him out of this mess, and get her ladyship and me home as soon as you can!" Abby said. "I do believe that Marie tried to help Mrs. Granger, but I also believe it was under duress, and that someone is forcing her to say things that are not true. She is scared, and she is a squib, so someone much, more powerful holds sway over her. Also, I believe this might have something to do with Lord Malfoy being the highwayman."

Pyle raised his eyebrows and said, "How do you know about that."

"I read it in my Mistress' diary, when she was trying to deduce the highwayman's identity, and she wrote that she wondered if Lord Malfoy and the highwayman were one and the same. Marie read it that day, too. We read it together. I told nary a soul. I wager to think that Marie had to tell someone. Still, I do not think Mrs. Granger was the one that tried to kill her ladyship. That is where we need to start. We need to find out who would benefit if her ladyship would die, and we need to find out if anyone knows that Lord Malfoy is the highwayman. Perhaps the highwayman should make another appearance tonight, while Lord Malfoy is in jail. That would prove his innocence on at least that account."

"My, you are a smart one," Pyle said.

"I take after my father," the girl said.

"Then I will start there, daughter," Pyle said. Abby smiled. He said, "Be a good girl, and watch over her, but never let anyone know that you are my daughter, or what our real roles are. Only Lord Malfoy knows. To everyone else, you are simply a lady's maid."

Abby nodded, and left the room. She ran down to the carriage and sat on the bench across from Hermione, next to Ron Weasley. Hermione sat on the bench opposite, next to Harry Potter. She had her eyes closed, and her head on his shoulder. She opened her eyes as they hit a large pothole in the road, and she said, "I've been such a fool."


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N I: Not to confuse anyone, but the 'forwards' at the beginning of each chapter are now over with, as we are now eight months in the future. Each of the previous 'prologues' will now be tied into the next few chapters. _

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**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 24: 13, April, 1813**

Draco had an uneasy feeling that today was going to be an unlucky day. Not only was it the thirteenth day, in the thirteenth year, but Draco felt it would be a terrible day the moment he woke up and saw the rain. He should try to see it as otherwise, because he was finally going to see his wife again. It had been so long since he had seen her, eight months to be exact, but today, she was coming home. He hoped it would be for good, nevertheless, he feared it was not, and that would indeed make it the unluckiest of days.

She wrote to him, and told him that she had some important news for him, which could no longer wait. She said she must deliver this news in person. She felt that since there had been no attempts on her life since she had gone away, that she would be safe to come back, if only for a day.

A day? What was one day? It was only a series of seconds, making up minutes, making up hours and even more abstract, making up moments in time. He could not only have her for only a moment. He could not let her come to him, only to leave again. He was not sure what he was going to do to convince her to stay, but as he walked back and forth on the bank of the river, he pondered that very thing.

He offered to go to her, but she said that her cousin would not welcome him into her home. She lived in a small cottage on the man's estate. Stupid Muggle Baron. Who did he think he was, denying him access to his own wife? She asked Draco to tell no one that she was coming. She said she would arrive early morning, by boat, on the river. She said the only people who were to accompany her were her maid Abby, and Abby's father, Draco's valet, Pyle.

Draco waited patiently on the riverbank for their arrival. The morning fog was dense and hindered his view, and the rain, though barely more than a mist now, irritated him to no end. Why did she need to arrive by boat? Why not by carriage? Better yet, why not apparate? It was true that her cousin did not know that she was a witch, but surely, she could have apparated without the man's knowledge.

He pulled out his pocket watch. It was half past the hour. They were late. Where were they?

Hermione felt tightness in her breasts and ribs, knowing he was near, and that she was soon to see him. How was she to tell him her news? How would he take it? Not well, she surmised.

She would tell him her news, and then tell him that her cousin had arranged for her to get a divorced, and had promised to set up her own house on his estate, so she would want for nothing. She would ask for nothing from Draco. She had asked for nothing from him for the last eight months, so she did not see a reason to ask anything from him now. She still loved him, though she would not tell him so. She no longer trusted him, because of all of his lies, and that was a fact she was certain he was privy to, so she did not need to rehash unpleasant things such as these. She would simply tell him her news, tell him goodbye and then tell him good luck.

Abby and Mr. Pyle were to escort her today, but at the last moment, Pyle had to bail out, leaving only Hermione and Abby. She still was not certain why they had to travel by boat down the river, but Pyle insisted it was the only way, because he claimed that the estate was still being watched by the road and the woods. She knew it would be slightly more comfortable in her condition than a carriage would be, and apparating was out of the question.

She felt bad that Abby had to staff the oars of the small craft by herself. Abby insisted that they not use magic, in case a Muggle saw them. Hermione saw the wisdom in that.

She sat back, and pondered everything that had happened over the ten months. She knew her cousin was angry when he found out that she was coming to see Draco. Harry would be even angrier still, but she had to see him one last time. She owed him that much. Even if he did marry her under false pretenses, and only to regain his fortune, he was cleared by the Ministry of being the highwayman, and cleared on all attempts against her life. That accounted for something, did it not? Apparently, he was freed the after he was arrested.

On the night he was arrested, the highwayman struck once more. He robbed Grimmauld Place again, as well as Shell Cottage. He even robbed Grey's Hall. Since Draco was under lock and key, the Ministry declared him innocent of being the highwayman. The only person who said that he was the masked man was the young squib Marie, under questioning after she was taken into custody that day eight months ago. For some inexplicable reason, she had disappeared right after that, so she was no longer considered a viable witness.

Mrs. Granger, who also claimed Draco was the highwayman while under questioning, also had no proof, so the Ministry did not believe her. They also could not prove that she had tried to harm Hermione in anyway. Since Marie was gone, all blame was laid at the young girl's feet. Hermione thought that was akin to a joke. The girl was a squib, and most of Hermione's accidents were caused by magic. Nonetheless, she would not ponder the unpleasant things any longer. She wanted it all to end, and it did. If her marriage had to end also, then so be it.

Harry came to her a month after she left and informed her that he petitioned the Ministry for an annulment on Hermione's behalf, but she never pursued it, because by that time, she was aware of the news that she was about to tell Draco today. She was still not certain, as she floated down the river, if it was something that she wanted to pursue. She would have to think on it.

Abby smiled at her and said, "We will be there shortly, Hermione." They had become such good friends, that she frequently called her mistress by her first name. Abby revealed long ago that her real job was as protector, as was her father's. Draco hired her father, many years ago, under the guise of a valet, but actually, he was a sort of guardian. When it became clear that Draco was to marry Hermione, Pyle's daughter Abby was hired to be her maid, although actual protector. She often told Hermione that she felt she did a terrible job protecting her.

Hermione begged to differ, pointing out the fact that she was still alive.

The small boat began to spin, as Abby fought to steer against the current. A steady rain was falling, a heavy mist was rolling in, and the boat began to turn in circles, nearing the riverbed. Abby smiled weakly at Hermione and said, "Never fear, my lady." That was the last thing she uttered before she lost one oar.

Hermione leaned over to try to rescue it, but they were so close to the riverbed, Hermione decided to reach up for a low-lying branch instead. Abby did the same, at the same time. That was a mistake. The boat rocked sharply to the side, only to rock to the other. Abby made to stand, then she fell overboard, backwards, and with a scream and a splash, she went underwater. Hermione reached for her, but to no avail.

The boat picked up momentum, since the current was swift, and as the rain was turning torrential. The other oar fell off, and Abby swam to the shore, when she realized that she could not find her wand. She called out to Hermione, but the boat was already being swept away, down stream. Abby ran and ran on the bank, in the same direction as the boat. She knew she was still far from Grey's Hall, but she had to reach it, and she also had to keep Hermione in her sight. She could not fail Hermione again!

The boat lurched forward, and Hermione slipped from the seat, and landed on the bottom. She swallowed hard, and reached in her reticule for her wand, before securing the string of her cloth purse to her wrist. She did not know what spell to use, and she knew that she could not apparate or disapparate in her condition. She also knew that she was near to Grey's Hall, and that Draco was waiting on the bank for her, so she sent up sparks for help, before she slipped her wand safely back into her purse.

Hermione clutched the sides of the boat, to wait for help. Suddenly, as if she were in the ocean, and not on a river, large waves rocked the boat back and forth. She held tighter, and she whimpered and had one conscious thought before the boat capsized, and it was that she would never be able to tell her husband that he was to be a father.

Hermione ended up in the water, and it was colder than she thought it would be. The water weighed down her skirts, and as she submerged under, only to bob back up, her lungs filled with water, and she coughed and sputtered. She managed to hang onto the side of the upside down boat. Before she went back under, she looked down…good, it was still there, she would have to try to get her wand. There was no one there to save her but herself.

Another large wave, larger than the first, came toward her, and Hermione was sure it was not natural. She went under once more, and the boat did as well. While she was underwater, she became confused. Everything seemed dark, void of light and sound. She came back above for air, her skirts like lead around her legs. She took a large gulp of air, just as the stern of the boat came down upon her, hitting her on the head, she sank like a stone, to the bottom of the riverbed, and into total oblivion.

He saw the sparks first, even as he heard a far-off scream. He looked over in the distance, toward the other side of the river, running toward the sound. Though a storm was brewing, and the rain was coming down harder, the river current was not that strong, so he had no trouble hearing a woman calling his name. He called out an answer.

"Lord Malfoy! Lord Malfoy!"

"Who is there? Abby, is that you?" Draco ran down the riverbank and finally he saw the girl in the distance, on the other side.

"There's been a terrible, terrible accident. I lost an oar, and then I fell out of the boat. The boat started down stream, on a fast current!" the girl screamed. Draco apparated to that side of the river so he could finish hearing her story.

He grabbed her shoulders and asked, "My wife?"

"I followed the river bank, running, to get help, and so that I could follow the boat, when I saw a large wave crash into the small vessel. Sir, it wasn't natural. It had to be induced by magic. It made the small craft turn over, and your wife…your wife…" she began to cry.

"WHERE IS HERMIONE?"

"She went under! She went under, and when she came back up, I saw another wave, and she went under again. I did not see her came back the second time. I cannot swim well enough to save her, and I lost my wand. I came to you for help!"

"Get to the house, and get help!" Draco shouted. He ran frantically back down the riverbank. He was not even sure where the boat capsized, or where he saw the sparks. He called her name, repeatedly. The rain obscured his sight, but he thought he saw the upside-down boat. He wasted no time; he performed a bubblehead charm, and jumped into the cold, fast water of the river.

He lit his wand as he searched underwater for her. The whole time he prayed to Gods known and unknown please to save his wife. Why was this happening again?

Finally, he saw her. Hermione was stuck to some underground vines. The vines were twisted around her skirts and legs like shackles. He used his wand to sever the vines, snaked his arm around her waist, and then he pushed his feet off the river's floor, and headed for the precious air above.

He thought, 'Please, do not let it be too late.'

He pulled her toward the shallow water. Abby was waiting there, wringing her hands with worry, along with their butler, and several footmen. Pyle came running, and he shouted toward his daughter, berating her, asking her what had happened.

Draco was ignorant to it all. His focus was on his wife. He placed her gently on the ground. She was unmoving, and she appeared dead. He screamed over her body. One of the footmen said, "Sir, it is not my place, but we need to get her to the house. We have already sent for a Healer."

Draco stood, one knee on the ground, placed his hands under her neck and her back, and as gently as he could he plucked her body from the ground. He ran the entire way to the house, with her tightly in his embrace. He could not even experience happiness at the feel of her body next to his again, when it was likely that she was dead. He placed her on the largest couch in the drawling room. The others were right behind, and the Healer was waiting for them.

The Healer began to say spell after spell. Draco paced back and forth beside her still, lifeless body. Soon, the Healer said, "Only time will tell now. If she regains consciousness within three days, then I think she might survive. Take her to her bed, and make her comfortable. I do not know yet if the baby will survive, but seeing as she is near the end of her confinement, we can only hope."

That was the first time Draco realized. He looked at his wife's expanded stomach. A baby. She was with child…his child. He sank to his knees beside her body, and brushed her wet hair away from her face. Her face was pale, and her breathing was so shallow it was almost nonexistent. She was so cold, her cold seeped into his heart, and soon he too was cold, down to his bones, just looking at her. His fingertips grazed her skin, and he leaned over and kissed her. He said, "You must live, Hermione, if not for you, if not for me, than for the babe inside you."

Two footmen levitated her body upstairs. Draco directed them to the guestroom on the second floor. He was not sure why, but he thought she would not be pleased if she woke and found that she was in her old room. He sat next to her on the bed, gathered her into his arms, cupped her cheek with his hand, and kissed the top of her head.

Abby came into the room and said, "We should get her into dry clothing, and get her under the blankets, my Lord, and then I need to go back and tell her cousin. He will be worry."

"Why did you not protect her?" he asked softly.

"Pardon, Sir," the young girl said, "for that is my regret, but I must ask you, why have you not protected her, either?"

Draco had no response for that, though it was the same question he had asked himself daily, almost since the day she was tortured during the war. He looked at the girl and said, "I'll leave for a moment, so you can change her clothing." He knew she was right, but he did not need a dressing down from a young girl, not now, and not ever.

The next morning, Draco sat in the corner of her bedchamber and watched her as she slept. The only light came from a single candle by her bed, and the dying embers of the fire. His greatest fear was if the light ceased completely, her life might end as well, and it would all be his fault. It was an irrational fear, but it was his fear nonetheless.

He needed her to wake if only to show her that he was a changed man, a changed man, for the better. He did not want her to slip from this world to the next, only knowing the man she had previously known. Why was it that he was such a cad to her when he was himself, but when he was 'the cad,' the blackguard, the scoundrel, he was a kind and generous man? Why could he not tell her how he felt, and more importantly, why could she not love him as he was?

Yet another night past and Draco was still so tired. He was tired all the way down to his bones. He was weary, and he felt as if he was an empty vessel, set afloat against an incoming tide, and he was drowning, just as she almost drowned. These feelings were familiar to him, instead of foreign. He had been feeling the exact same thing almost every moment since she was brought back to his house. He also felt these things before he had met her. The only time he felt remotely alive, and like his life had purpose, was the short time that she graced his home as his wife.

Now, as her life hung precariously on the edge, about to cross from one side to the other, he realized something: he loved her. He loved her whether she loved him or not. He loved her in spite of all that had transpired between them. He loved her for her transgressions, and in spite of his own. He loved her with every fiber of his being, even though he thought he would never love another human being.

He leaned forward in his chair and touched her hand. It still felt so cold, two days after her accident. She felt as cold on the outside as he had felt his entire life, on the inside.

He said one thing. "Come back to me, Hermione. Show me courage. Live, damn you, if only to give me hell. Live, so you can tell me how much you hate me. Live, so you can tell me that you will never set eyes on me again." He kissed her forehead and said once more, "Live."

* * *

_A/N II: This story was originally slated to be 28 chapters long, but I have 27 written so far, and I'm not completely certain I can wrap it up in one more, but I hate ending at 29. For some strange reason, I don't like my stories to have an odd number of chapters. A few have, but I don't like it. So, maybe it will end at 28…and 28 will be really long, or it might go to 30, or maybe I'll end it at 29 and just be unhappy about it! (HA!)_

_By the way, I have my new story all outlined and I'm excited about it…it will be a veela story, but my take on veelas, and it will be a Dramione, but Draco is not the veela in question, because that's been done too much. It will be a mystery, angst ridden, love triangle, supernatural story. I hope everyone is up for it!! I don't have a title yet, so I'm up for any and all suggestions...keeping in mind it has to start with an 'A'._


	25. Chapter 25

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 25: 16, April, 1813 –**

Draco woke up suddenly, not aware if it was morning or night. As if sensing his confusion, the clock on the mantel chimed five times. He stood from his chair and grasped her hand in his. He placed his face close to hers and said, "It's been three days, my darling wife. It is time you wake up. You must live so that you can gloat over the fact that you have taught me to love again. Remember when I told you that you would never teach me a thing? I was so wrong." He kept her hand in his, and kissed her forehead.

The Healer said if she had not woken up by the third day, she might never wake. It had been exactly three days, and still, she slept. Hence, his vigil by her side. He would not leave her, ever again.

He looked down at her swollen belly. He was to be a father. Would he be a better father than his father had been? Would she even allow him to be a father to this child? If she survived this (he shuddered at the 'if'), would she come back to him, and let him prove his love once more. She always claimed that all she ever wanted was a family. That was what he wanted as well. His family was here, on this bed, his wife and child.

He placed a hand on her stomach. He leaned down and said, "I love you, both." He sighed and went back to his chair. There was a knock on the door. He did not say a word, but still the bedroom door opened.

"My Lord," Pyle said, "Your wife's stepmother and stepsister have asked to see her."

Draco looked at the man as if he was mad. In fact, he said, "Are you mad?"

Pyle smiled and said, "Quite sane. I already knew you would not want them here. I actually already told them to leave." The man started out of the room when Draco called him back. He turned back and said, "Yes, my Lord?"

"Why did you not accompany my wife and your daughter that day on the river? Please know, I do not stand to accuse you. I am only wondering. I am curious," Draco asked, rubbing his temple with his thumb.

Draco looked up to wait for the answer. Pyle said, "I am ashamed to say that I got information that looked credible, that was supposedly from you, my Lord. We were compromised; there are no two ways about it. Someone discovered that her ladyship was to travel my river that day. Someone pried me away with false information, and someone cursed the river to rock the small boat. It was no one in this household, because no one here knew."

"Who knew?"

"That is the problem, Sir," Pyle said, with a frown. "Only my daughter and I knew. I am trying to discover the culprit. I will prevail. I promise."

Draco waved the man away with his hand. "That is fine, Pyle. Let me rest. We will all do better to protect her, will we not?"

Pyle gave a quick nod, and started out of the bedroom, only to turn back. "Sir?"

Draco stood up and crossed back over to Hermione's bed. "Yes?"

"Do you not think it is odd that there was not one attempt on her life while she was gone? She comes back, and there is another attempt?" Pyle asked.

Draco looked up. "Curious, that."

"Yes," Pyle agreed. "Lord Potter thought so when I presented my theory to him. You see, Mr. Potter said he placed the Fidelius Charm on her cousin's house, when she went to live there, so no one knew she was there, if he did not tell them. The only ones who knew were you, Mr. Ron Weasley, myself, and my daughter, and of course, Lord Potter. Lord Potter said he never told another soul, even his wife."

"And your meaning?" Draco asked, leaning closer to the man.

"The minute she leaves the safety of that home, another accident befalls her. That is all I mean. I am only thinking aloud," Pyle said, sincerely.

"Well, think elsewhere," Draco said perturbed. "I want to be alone with my wife."

"Yes, Sir," the man said. He quietly left the room. Abby was outside in the hall.

"Do you think he told anyone where she was?" she asked.

"No, he did not reveal anything, and he did not tell anyone that she was coming that day. We can safely mark him off our list," her father told her.

"If you did not tell anyone, and I did not, and Draco did not, that leaves one person," Abby said. "Hermione must have innocently told someone."

"Yes, that is what I assume," he concurred, as they both walked away.

The next day, Hermione finally opened her eyes. It was only for the briefest moments, but she opened her eyes. He was ready to give her up for lost, when she opened her eyes, and turned her head slightly toward him. He knelt beside the bed, and placed his hand upon her arm.

"Hermione?" he asked.

She looked at him and then closed her eyes once again.

"Cruel fate, do not toy with me," he said in despair. He stood, and took the chair that had been his mainstay for four days and smashed it into upon the hearth of the fireplace. He stormed out of the room, determined not to return to her, until she returned to him.

He sat on the stairs, and remembered that day, during the war, when she called him a coward. Would she call him a coward now? He was a coward. He could not even bring himself to stay in the same room with her, and wait for her to open her eyes again.

Yes, he was a coward.

She called him a coward again that night at the assembly, and again, the night she left him. Was he a coward? Was he every bad thing that she thought he was? He wanted to be a good man, for her. She had made him a better man. She had made him want to be kind and generous, and giving of himself. She made him want to give up selfishness. She made him want to live for someone besides himself. If she would never forgive him, he would have to go back to the way he was, and he was not sure he could do that.

Hermione lifted her head. She was thirsty. She saw no one in the room with her. She was not completely certain where she was. This was not home. Where was her father? Where were her friends? Then, she remembered everything…her father, her friends, and where she was, and hot tears burned behind her eyes. She tried to raise her head, but it felt as if it was made of granite, and there was an awful pounding behind her eyes. She closed them once more. Before she closed them, she felt something brush against her cheek. She turned her head slightly, saw her husband's face, saw him lower his hand from her cheek, and then she closed her eyes again.

It was all too much to take. She feigned sleep so she would not have to speak to him, though she had so much to say. By now, he must know of her condition. Did he hate her for keeping it from him for so long? Did he still love her? Did he want her back? Why did she care? She did not want to come back here, anyway, did she? She felt a tear slip from her eye. If he discovered it, he would know she was not asleep. He reached over and touched his index finger to her face, to capture the tear.

He leaned over her, and said, "It is alright, my love. Everything is fine now. You sleep. We have the rest of our lives to talk."

She did not have time to process his words, because she felt overwhelmingly tired, and she really fell asleep.

He spent every waking moment in this guestroom with her. He slept either on a pallet on the floor, beside her on the bed, or on a chair. He took all his meals here. Each day bled into the next. If she did not wake up fully, and talk to him soon, he would go mad with worry. Another night passed, and it was morning again. He looked out the window, but instead of seeing the blue sky, or the green earth, he only saw his own reflection. She woke up sometime during the night, but she did not speak, nor would she look at him. He had no clue as to what she remembered. If she did remember, he had no idea if she would ever forgive him.

Before her accident, she told him that she would never forgive him for his betrayal. He did not know if she meant his recent betrayal or the fact that she still thought he had revealed her identity to his aunt and to the Dark Lord during the war. However, one betrayal was real, and the other was not. He swore up and down that he was not the traitor that she thought he was. Though he had told her so, years ago, she did not believe it then, and apparently, she did not believe that now. That was his greatest regret, along with the fact that she told him that she did not love him.

His recent betrayal was true. He had lied to her, but did it matter? He turned to look at her. The lies were inconsequential now. The lies were small, and they were only to get her to marry him. He never married her to get his fortune back. He never married her for her money. He married her because he loved her and nothing else mattered.

Nothing else in the world mattered. Even if she did not believe him, even if she called him traitor and coward every day of their lives, one fact remained evident. He loved her, and that was all that mattered.

He stood by her window and turned quickly when he heard her stir. She looked up at him. He looked down at her. Let her be the first to look away. He continued to stare at her, until finally, she closed her eyes.

And she called him the coward.

Another day and another night, and still she feigned sleep, though he knew she had moments when she was awake. She had been awake for days now. He knew that she could hear him. Even if she did not want his company, she would have to abide him. The Healer came earlier and told him that the danger had passed. Her maid helped her to bathe, and changed her linens and gown. Her friends came to see her, but she slept during their visit.

She was not sleeping now, so now it was his time to visit. He sat on her bed, in an all too familiar way, but they were married, so she would have to tolerate that as well. He stroked her arm, and she turned her eyes to his. Apparently, she was no longer pretending to be sleeping. Good, he was glad. He needed to speak with her. He would start with something mundane, and then move to the matter at hand.

"I remember that day in the forest, during the war," he started. He was no longer looking at her. He was looking at the opposite wall, but he knew that her gaze was upon him, because it was boring a hole into his soul. "I found you, alone, because Potter and Weasley had left you to look for one of the Horcruxes. I did not expect to come upon you, but I did. You were shocked to see me as well." He finally looked down at her and said, "Do you remember?"

Finally, after days of quiet agony, days in which he wished for her to open her eyes and speak to him, she did. She said in a voice that was so soft it came out as a whisper, "I do not wish to remember anything regarding you."

He placed one hand to the left side of her head, and rested it on her pillow. He leaned down closely to her face and whispered back, "And I do not wish to remember how much you have come to hate me, but I think it is time we both remember a few things, and at the moment, you are not at liberty to leave, so you shall hear me out."

"I do not wish to hear any platitudes from you, Lord Malfoy," she said.

His face was dangerously close to hers and he said, "Call me husband."

"Lord Malfoy," she repeated.

His hand grabbed hers, as it rested on the outside of the covers, and he brought it to his lips. Before he placed a kiss there, he said, "Husband." He kissed her fingertips.

"Lord Malfoy," she said again, defiantly.

He smiled, ignored her again, and said, "And I shall intimately call you wife. My wife. You are my wife now, Hermione, and as much as you might wish it to be otherwise, I am your husband. I did not force you to marry me you know, Wife."

She shook her head slightly and said, "Please leave me."

"Hermione, I will tell you what I have wanted to tell you for so long, and then if you still wish for me to leave you alone, I shall." He was weary of fighting her. She kept her face toward the opened window. The sun streaked with shadows across her features. He sat next to her hip, and sheathed her one hand in both of his. "That day, during the war, when I found you in the forest, all alone, I was shocked. You were harmlessly gathering firewood. You were not even aware of the dangers nearby. There was a group of snatchers only a short distance away, and a group of Death Eaters was with them. I was with the latter. I was sent to scan the woods. I could hardly believe I found you so easily. I watched you for close to an hour. When I did not see either Weasley or Potter, I knew you were alone. I could not see your encampment, so I figured it was concealed, but you stayed out in the open. You gathered more wood, and then you went to a small stream for water."

She looked out the opened window and said, "And that was when you revealed yourself to me, and my entire life changed. However, this is not something we need to speak of, Lord Malfoy. Do you really think that I wish to open old wounds, when there are so many fresh ones in which we could explore? Please, leave me. I do not want to speak of old or new wounds. I am so tired." She turned her head toward the windows and closed her eyes.

"Tell me your news," he said sternly. She turned to look at him. "Well, if we cannot go down memory lane, and speak of my sins during the war, and you do not wish to speak of new transgressions, of which you've reminded me there are plenty, then at least tell me the news you came to tell me."

She looked on the verge of tears, and he felt slight remorse for causing her pain. He placed a hand on her stomach. He looked at his hand, her stomach, and then back at her eyes and said, "Well?"

"You have already guessed. You are not that dimwitted," she said.

That almost made him laugh. He said, "I am going to be a father, is that right?"

"I am having a child," she said.

"We are having a child," he corrected. "We. Husband and Wife. Remember that, Hermione." He stood up, his hand still on her stomach. "Remember that. Also, you have to know that this changes everything. You shall never take my child from me." He did not say it as a threat, but as an oath, or a solemn vow. She knew he was sincere in his sentiments, though she did not want to argue with him at that moment.

However, she was always defiant, so she said, "I will not argue the point with you, but my child will go wherever I go, Lord Malfoy."

"Then I am glad that you are home, Wife," he said. He sat back on the bed and said, "What other subjects might we mention, wife? The weather? The latest fashions? The latest gossip?" He looked at her and said, "You know, I think I want to examine those wounds that you said were still open. Open wounds tend to fester, do they not?"

He continued to talk to her, not with her, since she did not participate. He reminisced about the first time they had met in the forest, during the war. He spoke of the other times they met, always in secret. When he got to the part of the story where Hermione and her friends were discovered, and captured by the snatchers and the werewolf Fenrir, she finally spoke.

"Please, enough. You tell me a story of which I am painfully, painfully aware. I know the rest. We were captured, taken to the Manor, your father and aunt asked you for our identities, and at the time you said that you were not sure who we were."

He stood up, rushed to her and grabbed her shoulders. "Dear God, Hermione! Not at one time, not at one second, did I ever reveal who you were! My father had met you before, you know! He finally recognized you! I have told you that so many times, and I am so tired of saying it again, and again, and again!"

"Unhand me, you are hurting me," she said, tears forming in her eyes.

He had to remind himself that just a week ago she was close to death. She was still unwell. He let her go, and as she sunk back into the bedding, he leaned down, placed his face in the crook of her neck and said, "Why will you not believe me?"

"Oh, Draco, I do. I do. You know that I no longer think that of you. I told you that long ago, but that does not mean I want to speak of such painful things. Please, I am so very tired." She could hardly make out the words, from the tears that were coming down her cheeks. He should leave her be, and let her rest, but she was talking to him again, so he could not leave her, not yet.

She claimed that she believed him. She claimed that she no longer believed that he betrayed her during the war. Why was she still so resistant to him, if that was the truth? "If you believe me, then why do you act as if you still hate me?"

"Because you lied, about many things, things that happened during and after our marriage, and when we married, you promised me that you would never lie to me again."

"I have not lied, my wife!" he proclaimed. "I have kept some things secret, but I have not lied!" Hermione tried to sit up, but Draco pushed her back down. "Do not try to move. You are still weak."

"I do not want to talk of the past. It serves no purpose," she said, still struggling to sit, although it was futile. "And Draco, secrets and lies go hand in hand. You can try to convince yourself otherwise, but you shall not convince me."

He sighed, pushed on her shoulder and said, "I shall not upset you anymore tonight. I have done that enough in our lives. I will not press you for explanations. Nonetheless, I wish to remind you that I have never lied to you since we have been married. I know things were said that night you left me eight months ago, but those things were the lies. Not the things I said, but the things that girl Marie said, they were the lies. I love you, Hermione. I do, and I have loved you since the war. What can I do to convince you of that, and to make you see that you love me back?"

She began to cry. He hated upsetting her. He said, "If you do not wish to recall how we fell in love during the war, that is fine."

"I did not fall in love with you during the war!" she denied.

"You may not love me now, but I know that you did at one time," he alleged. "I am not a stupid man."

She turned her head back toward the wall. "That is debatable."

He laughed and said, "I am so pleased you are feeling better and are up to exchanging cutting remarks again, my love, my wife."

She turned back toward him. He stood to go and when he reached the doorway, he turned back and said, "Rest now. We have all the time in the world to talk. Perhaps tomorrow you might like to get out of bed."

He walked out of the room and once in the hallway he heard her say, "I did not fall in love with you during the war. I did not." He leaned against the door, and hung his head. He did not know how much more of her denial he could abide. If it was not denial, but the truth, than he had never been a bigger fool. He was about to walk away when she said, "I started to fall in love with you during the war, and I might have, but I fell in love with you the night you stole my book. However, that was all a lie. I have been such a fool."

He sprang back into the room, surprising her, and he said, "No, you are not a fool." How did she know that he was the highwayman?

"Yes, I was a fool, because that was not the real you," she argued.

"Hermione, what do you know? Tell me?" he urged.

It was too late. She turned her head, closed her eyes, and let slumber overtake her. That was fine. He would wait until tomorrow for explanations.


	26. Chapter 26

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 26: **

Hermione pretended to sleep again. She could no longer face her husband. When he finally left her room, she opened her eyes and struggled to sit up in her bed. She walked over to the desk, with difficulty, her gait slow and unsteady. She sat at the desk, opened the bottom drawer, and took out a wooden box. Inside were three things: a letter, a black mask, and her book of fairytales from her mother. When she awoke this morning, she went to the desk, albeit with difficulty, because she wanted to write to her cousin and explain to him her absence, so that he would not worry about her. At that time, she opened the bottom drawer, to look for parchment, and instead, she found this box. She assumed Draco had placed it there. Who else would have done so? She opened it at that time and was shocked when she saw what was inside.

The contents of the box confirmed her worse fears, and his greatest lie. She could scarcely believe that he was the highwayman, though in hindsight, she had feared it as the truth all along. He had lied, but that was hardly the surprising part, after all, he lied all the time. She was more shocked at what a coward he was. He could not even tell her in person. He had to reveal his secret identity to her with a box containing the highwayman's mask, her book, and a letter.

She had not even read the letter yet. She had been too weak this morning. Now, as she opened the wax seal with shaky fingers, she sighed. She unfolded the piece of parchment, and read his confession. She began to cry. Abby knocked on the door, and opened it without waiting for a reply.

"Mistress, are you unwell? Why are you out of bed?"

"Oh, Abby, I should never have come back here," she cried. "My husband's lies will never cease. I do not think I will ever believe him again." She put the letter down and picked up her book. Abby walked over to the desk, peered into the box, and saw the black mask.

"Where did this come from, Hermione?" Abby asked as she picked up the mask.

"I assume my husband placed it there for me to discover. I found it in the desk this morning. I looked inside as soon as I was able." Hermione continued to cry. "He was the highwayman all along. I should not be surprised. I believe I secretly knew it the entire time, I just did not want to admit as much. I feel like such a fool."

"Mistress," Abby began, as she took the book from her hand, "you have to understand, he felt he had no choice. He was bitter after the war. He fought for the light side, and yet he felt they still punished him by siphoning off his father's things. Does that make it right, no, but it justifies what he did in his mind. He also missed you so very much. He loved you during the war, and he thought he would never see you again."

Hermione wanted to ask Abby how she knew these things, but she was so very tired. She picked her book back up and said, "Help me back to my bed, and then hide the box back in the bottom drawer, please."

Abby helped Hermione to bed, and then she snuffed out all the candles, save for one, which Hermione wanted to remain lit so she could read her book. She needed the comfort of the book that night, to serve as the comfort of an absent mother, and as a reminder of a recently deceased father. Abby decided to remain in the room. She sat in the chair by the fireplace until Hermione finally fell asleep. When at last she did, Abby blew out the last candle, but not before she tucked Hermione's book under her pillow. Then the girl left the room, to find her father. She had to tell him about the box.

Draco did not sleep well. Her words rang through his head all night long. She fell in love _after_ the war. With him. And she called him a liar, yet again. This could mean only one thing. She meant that she fell in love with the highwayman, and she knew that it was he, and that he had lied when she asked him if it was so.

He would not blame her if she never forgave him. He had broken yet another vow to her. He was forever disappointing her.

He took a candle, opened the door to his bedchamber, and walked down the hall. A footman stood in the hallway and asked him if he needed anything.

Draco told him no. He was going to go to his wife. Her room was downstairs. No, her room was next to his, but she moved out of that room the day she left him, so he did not take her to that room the day she almost died.

He walked downstairs to the guestroom, and opened the door slowly, fully expecting her to be safely in her bed, but she was not. Apparently, she had been as restless as he had, for she was sitting in a comfortable chair by the fireplace. She was awake.

He entered her room, noticed the book of fairytales on her lap, and froze. He wondered how she had happened upon it. He knew that he had never returned it to her. The last time he had seen it, it was hidden in his room. He also knew that she must now know that he was definitely the highwayman. That must be what she meant when she said that he deceived her, and the trouble was, she was right, because he had.

They merely stared at each other. She folded the book and placed it on a small table to the left of the chair. He waited for her assault, her accusations, her questions, about the book, but nothing came.

He rubbed this left eye with the heel of his hand and then walked up to her, pulled her to stand with his hands on her shoulders, and then to her surprise, he picked her up. He decided that he would ignore the book, forget that he saw it.

He walked out of the room with her in his arms. Instead of fighting him, she placed her head on his chest. He walked down the long hallway, then upstairs, toward her old room.

He looked at the footman in the hallway and said, "Wake the other servants. Mrs. Malfoy will be moving back into her room today, the one next to mine."

He reached the door, had trouble opening it with her in his arms, but once it was opened, he stepped over the threshold.

He placed her gently on the bed, sat next to her hip and said, "I am the highwayman. I lied to you. However, let me remind you, Wife, that you lied, too. You once promised me that you would never run away again, and you did, eight months ago."

He lay down beside her, after he placed her on her former bed, and that was where he stayed. They said nary a word to each other. However, as they lay side by side, both on their backs, she reached out for his hand. He prayed it was real, and not just a dream. He had dreamt of her touch for so long. He wrapped his fingers around hers, and turned his head to look her. Her eyes, though closed, had a tear escape. He leaned over and kissed it away.

It was not long until they both drifted off to sleep. The butler rapped at the door once, after daybreak, to ask if they should move her ladyship's things into the room.

Draco answered the door, and told them to wait.

Hermione woke up with the sound of the knock on the door. She watched Draco cross back over to the bed, where he sat down next to her. She looked up at the face of her husband. Her hand went to his cheek. That simple act, from the woman he loved, gave him courage. He asked the question he wanted to ask. "How did you find your book?"

"I found it where you hid it, my Lord," she accused. "I found it as I am sure you wanted me to find it."

"Know this, Wife, I never wanted you to find it, if it meant that you knew I had lied, but I lied about being the masked man before my vow to never lie again."

"And was this lie, after the vow, continued after I promised I would marry you, on the condition that you never lie again?" she asked.

"I am not sure I understand the question," he said with just a hint of humour. When she did not smile, he took her hand in his, kissed the top, and explained, "It was continued, but not renewed." His hand went down to her face, as her hand left his face.

"Semantics, Malfoy" she muttered. She turned her head from him slightly. She would not give into him so easily this time. She had made things too easy for him for too long.

"Truth, finally, and please, call me Draco," he contradicted. His hand on her face forced her to look back at him. He leaned down and kissed her lips. Yes, it had been too long.

He stood from the bed and said, "I will let you rest some more, and then we will have your things moved back up here." He started to leave, but she called out for him.

"Will you write to my cousin? He must be terribly worried about me," she said.

Draco rather doubted that, but he had his own reasons for his doubts, which he would not share with her at this time. He smiled and said, "Why would he worry? You are home with your husband, where you belong." Before she could say another word to him, he walked out her door.

Her cousin had already been to visit him after her accident, and had made it clear to him in no uncertain terms that he expected her to be returned to 'her family' as soon as she was well. Stupid Muggle. Did he not know that she was already with her family? Who did the man think he was, ordering Draco about as if he was accountable to him? Draco snarled when he thought of the man. He claimed he would be back to see her soon. Draco would bide his time. He would let the cousin visit her, but if the man thought he was going to take his wife away, he had another thought coming.

He stood outside her door and took an unsteady breath. He could not afford to make too many enemies right now. He appeared to have one too many as it was. Pyle informed him just that morning that they had located the young squib Marie, and she had quite a tale to tell. Draco stormed down the hall, his hands behind his back, and a determination in his walk, which he had not felt in a very long time.

23, April 1813:

"May I join you?" Draco asked his wife, as she sat on a blanket under a large oak tree, near the rose garden.

"It is your house, so do as you must," she responded. She placed her book of fairytales on her lap, and took a deep breath in as he sat on the blanket beside her. She raised her face to the sun and said, "I have missed the sunshine."

"You live in England now, so of course you miss the sunshine," he responded with a sly smile.

"I meant since I have been inside recuperating," she said sternly. "Tell me, what happened to me? Why have I been ill?"

"Do you really not know? Do you not remember?" he asked.

"Tell me," she begged. "Was I in an accident of some sort?"

"You were injured, but it was not an accident," he said back. His face turned toward the house, where footmen stood guard around every door. He looked out toward the large garden and lands, where more guards ran on horseback. He would protect her this time, and his child, if it meant he had to keep her prisoner here.

"Draco," she said, since he had been silent for so long. She placed her hand on his arm. She leaned forward slightly, to adjust the pillows behind her back. "Tell me."

"Do you really not recall your accident?" he asked. "I mean, your accident was ten days ago, so I thought surely you recalled it. You asked me to let your cousin know that you were here, so again, I thought you knew of the reason you were here. Do you truly not remember?"

"No," she said, her face full of worry.

"Do you recall any of the other accidents?"

She thought for a moment and then said, "I recall the incident at the Bones' ball, before we wed, with the statues. I recall a carriage accident after we married, a fire, wait…I thought it was established that the highwayman committed at least two of these accidents." She sat upright and looked afraid. She placed her hand out in front of her, almost to ward him away. "But you ARE the highwayman. I found the book, and you just admitted as much. I also read your confession! Why would you try to hurt me?"

He sprang from the blanket, shot to his feet, and stared down at her. "First, I would never hurt you! I am the highwayman, but I did not cause any of your accidents, although to call them accidents would be a travesty. Each attempt was deliberate, I am certain. Now go back to what you were saying. What confession?"

She was breathing hard, out of fear. He knelt back down beside her and said, "Hermione, you must know that you never need fear me. I was the highwayman, but all I ever did as the highwayman was steal some of my father's belongings, burn a carriage, and fall in love with you again. Now, what confession are you eluding to, Wife?"

"The box you left for me, in the desk in the guestroom, the one with my book and the mask, had a confession in it as well, written in your hand," she began. He stopped her short.

"What box?"

"Draco, if you continue to interrupt, I shall never relay my story," she said, holding her hands on her stomach. He placed one hand on her stomach as well.

"Does it feel like a son?" he asked.

"It," she said, sarcastically, "feels like a pumpkin. May I have your undivided attention, now, my Lord?"

"Husband," he insisted again, though with a smile. "Does it feel like a little girl?"

She stared at him, exasperated, and then said, "We were speaking of your confession, Lord Malfoy."

"Husband."

"Yes, yes, whatever you wish, my Lord," she said, insolent to the end. "You left a box for me, so that I might discover your identity, instead of confessing to me yourself."

"First, my Wife," he said, standing again, and suddenly feeling perturbed, though not at her, "I left you no box of discovery, nor would I have, since you have been so ill. Firstly, I did not know you would come back to our home, or to the guestroom, so when would I have planted this box? Secondly, I did not wish you to ever know this secret, there; I admitted that I wished this one lie to remain a lie forever. Thirdly, and lastly, call me husband, dammit!" He stormed into the house, leaving her on the blanket. He came back a few moments later and said, "Where is this blasted confession, so that I might read what I supposedly wrote, myself!"

"I shall not tell you if you continue to curse," she said, arms crossed over her expanding waist.

"Bloody hell, woman, I shall curse until the cows return home, if I so please, now, the letter, Wife?" he asked, one eyebrow in the air.

"Bottom drawer of my bureau, Sir," she said, turning her head from him.

He strolled over to her, dropped to his knees, grabbed her chin with his hand, pulled her face to his, and kissed her lips, softer than she imagined, and he said, "Thank you, my love."

He stormed back into the house, walked into old her bedchamber, over to her bureau, and opened the bottom drawer. He took out an envelope, as she instructed. When he walked back outside toward her, he held it up and she said, "Yes, that is the confession from the highwayman."

He would worry about the confession another time. He tucked it inside his pocket. He walked back to her, sat down on the blanket, and then told her the sordid details of her most recent accident. She could not believe what he had told her. His free hand came to rest on her shoulder. He asked, "Do you want to go inside?"

"No, I want to find out why this is happening to me," she said. "We both know that the highwayman is not to blame for my accidents."

"Yes, that much we know," he whispered. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Do you know what else we know?"

"What?"

"We know that we love each other."

"Do tell, Lord Malfoy," she said, without a trace of humour.

"Please, call me Husband. It matters greatly to me," he said.

"Perhaps that is why I cannot do so, not until we find out why these things are occurring," she reasoned.

He stood up and said in anger, "You are a cruel woman. Fine, I no longer want you to call me husband. I no longer want to call you Wife!"

"Why must you lie again, Husband?" she asked.

"Maybe because I find it so incredibly easy to lie to you, after all, you believed I was the highwayman for so long, did you not? Yes, I enjoy lying to you," he said, irreverently. With that last lie uttered, he once again left her on the blanket, alone.

Draco was alone in the dining room, eating dinner, when he heard the rustling of her skirts first. He looked up and said, "Are you well enough to come to the table?"

"Would you like me to take dinner upstairs?" she asked, as she sat at the other end of the long table.

"No, of course not, it has been so very long since I've eaten with others, you must pardon me, Wife," he said. "Would you like to move closer?"

"No," she said, as the footmen began to serve the food.

"Would you like me to move to that end? The light is better down there," he said with a grin.

"It is dark in here, so the light is bad everywhere," she said.

He shrugged and began to eat. She looked at the footmen and said, "Would you kindly leave us for a moment?"

The two men looked at each other, then at their Master. Draco said, "You heard the Mistress." They left the room, and closed the solid oak door.

"Draco, we need to speak openly and honestly with each other, would you not agree?" she asked.

"Is this a conversation that we may have after dinner?" he asked, hopeful.

"No," she said simply.

"Is this a conversation that may make me lose my dinner?" he asked, without a trace of humour. He placed his fork on his plate and said, "Fine, speak."

She mocked him and said, "Speak?" She placed her fork down and said, "You know that ten days ago, when I was coming to tell you that I was with child, I was also going to tell you goodbye."

"I would not have let you leave, not with my child," he said, truthfully.

"Let me?" she asked, a bit angry.

"Yes, let you," he said back, throwing his napkin on the table, and scooting his chair out from the table. He stood up and walked over to her, sat in the chair next to her and said, "And let me tell you what else I will not allow. I will not allow the annulment that Potter has planned. I have friends in the Ministry, still. They told me his plans. I also will not allow you to get the Muggle divorce that your ruddy Muggle cousin, the Baronet, has planned, not that one would be legal in our world, in any case." He took her hand, though she tried to wrench it away, he held tight.

"Do you want to know what else I will not allow?" he continued.

"I can hardly wait for you to enlighten me," she said back.

"I will not allow the lies of others to tear us asunder! I lied to you. Fine! That much is true, over and done with, and buried in the ground. The highwayman is over! He was a mere focal point at the beginning of our saga. I never lied about how much I loved you! I never tried to hurt you! I failed to protect you, yes, so that is my biggest sin, but I will not let you punish me by taking away my child! I will not let you punish me by leaving me! I lost you once, no…twice, and I shall never go through that pain again!"

"Are you threatening me?" she asked.

He stood up, laughed, and said, "Merlin, no one could ever threaten you. You are not scared of me, my wife, so no, I hardly think these are threats. They are oaths, promises, pledges, if you will." He sat back down, and placed his head in his hands. "How long must I suffer for my sins? I have tried to be a good person, and my reward for that goodness was you. Do not let it be in vain, Hermione." He placed his head on the table. "Please, I usually do not beg." He let out a sad sort of laugh at the end.

She placed her hand on his head, and stroked his hair. She said softly, "May I finish saying what I began to say, before your passionate, dramatic outburst?"

"If you must," he said. He would not raise his head, because he did not want to lose contact with her. When she stopped stroking his hair on her own, he lifted his head.

"I was saying, before you rudely interrupted me with your rant and your idle threats," she said as he made a face, "is that I was going to give you my news, and then I had planned to leave. Even as we rowed closer to our home, I knew if I saw you again, I would not be able to leave you. I can never leave you again, Draco, and I am sorry I broke my word to you. I did promise you that I would never leave you again, and I broke that pledge, so we have both done things that need forgiving. Do you forgive me?"

"Do you forgive me?" he asked.

"Is this tit for tat?" she asked.

He raised one shoulder and said, "Perhaps." He took her hand and held it to his chest. "I do ask for your forgiveness, but you have done nothing which needs forgiving."

"Good, that is said and done," she said, moving her hand down his chest, down his arm, to his hand. "Now, we need to find out who would want me dead, who would gain from it. It is curious that there was never an attempt against me at my cousin's house."

"It was protected by a charm," Draco said dryly, although he felt it was more than the charm that kept her from being harmed at her cousin's house.

"I am now aware of that fact, Harry having told me that," she said. "Still, my near drowning aside, there have been no further attempts since I returned."

"The house here is now protected, too," he said.

"Do you suppose that is the case?" she asked. "Do you think that is why there are no more attempts?"

"That, or the person who tried to kill you is gone," he said. "You know that Marie vanished the night after we were all arrested."

"She was not the guilty party, of that I am sure," Hermione said.

Draco said, "And you are smart as ever. I agree. She is not the guilty party, and by the by, she has suddenly returned."

"Is the Ministry aware of that? The Aurors?" she asked.

"No, not at the moment. No one knows, but Pyle and me," he answered.

"Are you going to go talk to her?" she asked.

"Directly, but not right away. I want to let a few people know that she has returned first," Draco declared.

"Is that smart?" she asked.

"Are you saying that I would do something dumb?" he asked, with a grin.

"Well…" she started. When he frowned she said, "It is just that I am certain that my beloved stepmother would like to find Marie before you do."

"That will not happen," Draco said with conviction.

"Fine, then tell me about my dowry. How was it that you signed it back over to my stepmother? When did the blackmail with her begin?" she asked.

Draco knew the day would come when she would ask this question. He had just hoped it would not come tonight.


	27. Chapter 27

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 27:**

Draco had been waiting for this question. He half-expected it sooner. He placed his head back down on the smooth wood of the dining room table and said, "I hate to have this conversation, because I will not be able to finish my meal, and also it will make me come out badly, or in a bad light."

She grinned and stroked his head again. "And how is that different than any other time?"

He lifted his head and gave her a rueful smile. He said, "If we are not to finish our meal, may we at least have this conversation someplace other than the dining room?"

They found themselves outside, on the veranda off the dining room, his jacket across her shoulders, the early evening lit by the light of an early springtime moon. He sat down on a stone planter. She started to sit, but then said, "I will need assistance. This child makes everything difficult, even sitting."

"How ungallant of me," he observed. He stood, offered her a hand to sit, and then sat beside her. With her hand encased in his, he said, "The day I went to see your stepmother, to ask for your hand in marriage, she was shocked. She argued that you would not make a good match for me. She said that her daughter Gabby would be a better match."

Hermione gasped. "But Gabby is so young."

"Yes, but not too young in the eyes of her mama," Draco said sarcastically. "I told her that I loved you, and I meant to have you, with her permission or not. I said if I could not have her permission, I would seek special permission from either the Ministry or your Muggle cousin. The changed her mind. She agreed to the match, on a few conditions."

Hermione sighed and said, "Of which one was my dowry."

"Your father left you well provided. Your dowry was very large by Muggle standards, five thousand pounds to be exact," Draco explained. "I told her I had no need for your money, although I should not have made that decision without your knowledge, as it was your money."

She raised her brows and said, "In actuality, it is your money. Dowries are meant for securing a husband for a woman. It is the prize money, if you will. It is meant to trap and allure all interested parties. The money was yours to do with as you saw fit."

"Yes, but that is not all," Draco said. He cleared his throat, dropped her hand, and stood. He walked a few steps from her and said, "She told me that I also had to seek permission to marry you from your Muggle cousin. She said it had something to do with your inheritance."

"My cousin was in control of my dowry?" she quizzed.

He shook his head even as he said, "No, he had nothing to do with that. He was in control of a trust, an inheritance, which would be administered by your spouse when you married. Your mother had money, Hermione, separate from your father's money, and not controlled by your stepmother. When your mother died during the war, her money went to you. Your father controlled the trust for you, until you reached the age of majority, or married. When he died, that task went to your cousin. Neither your father nor your cousin, who as a relative of your father and not your mother could touch this money. They could do little more than keep it safe for you until you reached your majority."

"I knew of no inheritance from my mother. I knew her family in France had money, and titles and lands, but I always assumed they were entailed away, long ago," she said. She struggled to stand, and then came to walk beside him. He walked to the edge of the veranda. She said, "Is there more?"

"Your cousin told me that if you married before your majority, your husband would be the administrator of this inheritance," he said. He turned and said, "That means when we married, I became the administrator to this money."

"Of how much money are we speaking?" she asked, with a hand placed gently on his back. He turned away from her.

"Several hundred thousand pounds. You are undoubtedly one of the richest women of my acquaintance, Wife." He turned back, but he was not smiling.

"Did you marry me for this money?" she asked without abash.

"No," he answered steadily. "My fortune is worth much more than that, even without my father's money being returned to me, besides, you are of age and the way this money is entailed is that it is yours and yours alone, unless you die, without a child. If you die without a child, your spouse would inherit the money. If you died with a child, the child would inherit."

She could only nod. The money was hers…unless she died. That seemed enough of a reason to kill her, except her husband claimed he did not need or want her money. She moved back over toward the low wall, and sat down on it. He moved to the other side. "Is that all?"

"Your stepmother learned of this money, and she began to blackmail me," Draco said.

"To blackmail you, it means that she had information that would damage you in some way. What information did she know, besides the information about my dowry and inheritance, because there has to be more?" Hermione asked slowly.

Draco swallowed. He felt desperate for a moment. He took several deep breaths and said, "There are two things she became privy to, Hermione. One, she became aware that I was the highwayman, although that information came late, and was not really part of the blackmail, although it would have been. She only brought that to my attention the day you left me. Potter and I went to visit her, to tell her that the blackmail regarding the dowry was ending, when she took a moment to speak to me alone, she told me she knew about the highwayman."

"How did she know?" Hermione asked.

He started walking around the veranda. He felt like a caged animal. He said, "I have theories. I saw Marie that day. She was leaving your stepmother's townhouse right after I left. Abby has since told her father and me that she and Marie learned that I was the highwayman from you, Hermione. I can only assume Marie told your stepmother."

"How did they learn it from me, when I just learned it myself?' she asked, incensed.

"You wrote of your supposition in your diary," Draco said.

Hermione looked down at the ground. She had done that, before they wed, but she had no idea anyone had seen that entry. She looked back toward her husband and said, "What was the other thing she became privy to, Husband?"

He closed his eyes, almost in pain. She called him husband, and after he told her the other thing that Mrs. Granger knew, she would never call him that again. He said, "No! I cannot tell you, not yet!" He ran back in the house, and left her all alone.

**24, April 1813, The Next Day:**

Taking her tea in the rose parlor, Hermione dropped her spoon when she heard a noise outside in the hallway.

"I must see her!"

"My master says she is not to be disturbed," the butler barked.

Hermione strained to hear the other voice. It sounded familiar. It was a woman. "I have to see her now! I heard she is out of her sickbed!"

Hermione stood, though she was still weak, made her way to the open doorway, and peered into the hallway, toward the foyer. "Who is out there, Ewing?" she asked.

Suddenly, a woman Hermione had not seen for over eight months came running around the butler, straight toward Hermione, with a wild look in her eyes. Hermione felt slightly alarmed, especially when the woman ran into the parlor and grasped her arms. Hermione looked at the butler and said, "Go find my husband!"

"Oh, Hermione!" Gabby said. "Mama and I have been so very worried about you!"

Hermione felt weak in the knees. She slipped back toward the sofa, and sat down. Gabby looked at her stomach and gasped. "Then the rumors are true! You are with great with child!"

"Quite," Hermione said. She looked toward the doorway. Where was the butler? Where was her husband? Where was Abby?

"Oh, Hermione," Gabby began, as she sat next to her, "I want you to know, that Mama had nothing to do with any of these terrible accidents. We heard of your near drowning. It is true that she blackmailed your husband, although he deserved it. He did some terrible things, and apparently he is not going to pay for any of them!"

"Gabriella!" Hermione said sternly, "That is my husband, and I will not have you saying disparaging remarks about him in his own home!"

"But I heard that he was the highwayman all along, although the Ministry refuses to believe that, and he gave away your dowry, as payment to marry you," she said, and then she placed her hand in front of her mouth. "Oh, Hermione, you do not know that sin, do you?"

"Yes, I do," Hermione said sternly. "And I forgive him, but I shall never forgive your mother, Gabby. I know she is your mother, and I would expect you to love her, but I will not have anything to do with her for the rest of my life. I will still receive you and Fleur, but not her."

"Hermione, that's not fair!" Gabby said. "She cares for you!"

Hermione stood, and said, "She cared only for my money, and the money of my father! She blackmailed my husband for more money! Do you know that she wanted Draco to marry you instead, and that was just for HIS money?"

Gabby stood as well and said, "No, Hermione, you must be wrong! Mama would never request that I marry Lord Malfoy!"

"She not only suggested it, she requested it, and Harry Potter is a witness, if you do not believe me," Hermione said. "I think you should go. I do not believe Draco would like you to be here."

"Does that mean you blame me?" she said, with a tear in her eye. "Hermione, you know that I thought of you as a sister. Please, even if what you say about my mother is true, that does not mean that I am guilty. Do not hate me, please; I could not stand it if you hate me." She began to cry readily. "Please, I think I might know who is behind this, if you would just come and see me alone, later, we can talk freely, and figure this out together!"

Just then, Abby ran in the room. Hermione said, "Abby, see Gabriella out of the house. Make sure my husband does not see her." She turned to the pretty, younger girl and took her hand. "I do not hate you, or blame you. I will see you again, soon, I promise, Gabby."

Draco stood alone in his room, while his wife was alone downstairs in the rose salon taking tea. He opened the letter, which was supposedly the confession from the highwayman. He read it, and his heart filled with anger. No wonder she hated him for so long. No wonder she believed him guilty. This letter laid claim to each and every one of her accident, save for her last one. When she found the book and mask in his drawer, along with this letter, no wonder she thought him guilty. No wonder she ran away from him, even though she had once promised him that she would never do that again. He honestly did not blame her.

However, the main point was, this letter was not written by him. An imposter wrote it. An imposter who knew that Draco was the highwayman and this same person was behind all of her accidents. The most important piece of evidence was that this person also had to know that Hermione knew that Draco was the highwayman.

Now Draco just had to find that person and make them pay.

Hermione walked Gabby and Abby to the foyer, just as the front doors opened, to reveal another unwanted visitor, her stepmother. Gabby turned quickly to Hermione and said, "I am sorry. She insisted on coming with me today, although I asked her to wait until I ascertained whether of not you would receive her, but the Aurors let us pass so easily, though they made her wait outside, still, I thought I should come in the house first. I'll have her leave."

"Hermione!" her stepmother yelled. "I have wanted to see you for so long!"

Hermione backwards toward the stairs, as Abby drew out her wand. Several footmen drew out theirs, and Hermione screamed, not yelled, but screamed for her husband. "DRACO!"

"Hermione! Listen to me!" the older woman beseeched from her place near the front door. She dare not approach with all the wands pointed toward her. "I think I know who might be behind your accidents! It is not I! You must listen to me! You must! I must warn you! There will be more accidents!"

Gabby looked toward her mother and said, "Mama, you must leave! Do not threaten Hermione! You are scaring Hermione!" Even Gabby drew her wand.

"DRACO!" Hermione cried again, backing toward the steps, until she fell backwards upon them.

Draco folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope even as he heard raised voices down below on the first floor. He thought he heard his wife, but she did not sound alarmed, so he was not alarmed. He placed the letter inside his coat pocket, and started down the stairs even as the butler started up them.

"Master Malfoy, you must come at once! Your wife has asked for your assistance."

He nodded at the man and began to trot down the stairs, but his trot turned to a dead heat as he heard Hermione once again scream out, "DRACO!"

He all but flew down the stairs, heart in his throat, and her scream like a knife piercing his soul.

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Hermione felt as if she could hardly catch her breath as she waited for Draco to come back into Grey's Hall. Draco escorted their unwelcome and unwanted visitor from their home. He then ran back into the rose parlor. He kneeled in front of her, placed his hands on her cheeks, and said, "Are you unhurt?"

"Truly, she alarmed me, but did not hurt me," Hermione said. "Draco, she said she came to warn me."

"That is unlikely!" Draco shouted. He stood and paced the room. "The more I think on it, the more I feel she is somewhat to blame."

"Why would you think that, Draco, why?" Hermione asked.

He turned to his wife and wondered how much more he could reveal to her before their relationship broke irrevocably. He sat on the footstool in front of her, grasped her hand, and said, "You already know that I lied about being the highwayman, however, I fear there are a few more lies I have yet to reveal to you, and when I do, I am afraid you shall be very unhappy."

"Does she know of these lies?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid she does."

"Then you must tell me," she implored.

He rushed to her, fell to his knees in front of her, and grabbed her around the waist. "Hermione, you know that I acted as a spy during the war, and as such, there were times when I had to give information to both sides. It did not please me to do so, but I had to, so that I did not give up my position."

"I understand that," she said. Her hand went to his face.

He removed it, but kept it in his. He said, "I never once lied when I said that I did not give up your position during to war. I did not. I also never once told my father or aunt who you were when you were captured and brought to the Manor."

"I know," she said desperately. "What is it, Draco?"

"You also know that I lied to my aunt when I said that I was not in love with you, because I thought she would spare you if she thought that I hated you."

"I know, I know," she said. For some reason, she felt hot tears burn behind her eyes.

"Hermione, I might have made a terrible mistake, though," he began, "one in which Monsieur Delacour became aware of, and one in which he told the Ministry of after the war. For his information, he was awarded my father's ring, and he must have told his wife," Draco explained.

"Draco, you're scaring me. Just say it already. It cannot be that horrible. Whatever it was, you were young, and it was war, and you had no choice, correct?" she said. Please, she thought, let that be the case.

"You will hate me," he said.

"I do not think that possible," she said back.

He placed his cheek on her lap. Hermione reached for his hair. She felt him grasp her skirts in his hands, bunching the material tightly in his fists. Then, she saw a tear fall from his eyes. "I made the mistake of telling my mother where your parents were hiding. She told my father. They sent Death Eaters there, and your parents were tortured."

Hermione pushed him away, and he fell backwards, down to the floor. He stood quickly, and looked down upon her, to gauge her reaction. It was as he suspected. Her hands were to her mouth, her eyes wide, and her mouth agape.

"What? No! That never happened!" she cried as she stood. He started toward her, and she backed away. "My father never told me that!"

"They never told you, because he did not want you to worry, or suffer. He knew you suffered enough during the war," Draco explained, "and he did not want you to undergo more, or to feel guilty, but your mother never really recovered, and her death was brought on by the tortured she endured."

"No, Draco, please, tell me that is your last lie to me!" she cried.

"Hermione, when I realized what happened and I found out that my mother told my father, I told Lupin, and he sent members of the Order, and they rescued them, but your mother never fully recovered. Please, understand! I had to tell somebody something! They knew there was something between us! My father could tell! He used Leglimency on me! Therefore, I told my mother your family was hiding in France, knowing she would tell my father, but I never thought they would find them!"

"There was something you did not know, that even I did not know until Lupin told me. The Delacours were supposed to be hiding them! Bill Weasley had arranged it! Still, somehow, they found them! I swear that all I told them was that they were in France. I did not know the rest." He continued to approach her, as she backed into the wall near a large window.

"Hermione," he said softly, "when I knew what they had planned, I went immediately to Lupin. You, Potter, and the rest had already escaped the Manor. I wanted to go to France myself, to save them, but Lupin and Snape would not allow it. Please, please, understand, it was a mistake, and I am so sorry."

She hardly knew what to say. She was quiet for a long time, as she peered upon the anguished face of the man whom she called husband. She said, "Is that the last secret you have to reveal? Tell me there are no others."

"There are no others, and there will be no others," he promised.

"Then we are free of that woman and her blackmail," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. "And perhaps we are free from all the attempts against my life. Know this, Draco, I begged my parents to go far away during the war, but they would only go as far as the continent. The fact that I revealed to you that they were in France is my fault, not yours. You did not kill my mother. You did nothing malicious, and I find that I cannot hate you for this, or blame you. I do not even want to do so. I am tired of blaming you for things, but I am equally tired of lies. If this is the last lie, then there should not be anything else to hurt us."

He rushed to her and grabbed her into his arms. He kissed her all around her face, and rained kissed down her jaw, to her neck. He held her as tightly as he could and he said, "You are too good for me."

"No, Husband, because you have changed, and you're a different man than you once were, and it might be that you are now too good for me," she said back with a sad smile.

He stopped kissing her and then he said, "I am glad you have deemed to call me Husband again."

"I think you deserve it," she said. "Now, I am so weary and tired. This baby grows larger everyday, and it makes me so tired. Will you see me to my room?"

He nodded and walked her to her door. Once there, she said nothing. She placed her hand on his face and then she began to cry. He took her into his arms.

He said, "I am so sorry for what happened to your mother." He scarcely knew what else to say. He had no more secrets to keep from her. He had no more lies. Now, they just had to put all this madness to an end. He let go of her and said, "Since our dinner the other night was ruined, and we have not dined together since, will you join me to break our fast in the morning?"

"I do not know, Draco. I just do not know. I need time alone, to grieve. I hold nothing against you, I just need time alone." She smiled, though it started to wane even as she turned to shut her door.

He stood outside her door for more than an hour, contemplating his next move. This was ending. Before the birth of his child, this was truly ending.

The next morning he sent a missive to the woman who had come to see his wife, to see if she would meet him. This was ending, here and now. If she knew who was harming his wife, both last summer, and now, then Draco needed to know. If she were party to the madness, Draco would make the woman pay.

He had his reservations that she was party to everything all along, as it was all too neat, too tidy, otherwise. Hermione was in the greenhouse, reading, and her maid, Abby, was with her, so she need never know the woman was coming back today. She MUST NEVER know that this woman was coming back here today!

No one must know.

Yes, this was ending immediately. Draco's valet walked in the room and merely nodded. Draco knew what that meant. He said aloud, "Let the games begin, and then let them end again."

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Draco was shocked when he entered the dining room the next night and his wife was sitting at the table. He had not dined with her since the night before she went away, all those months ago. They had started to dine together the other night, and it was interrupted by his partial confession. They did not get to dine together the next night, because she retired early due to the sudden appearance of her stepmother. Then, when he asked her to join him for breakfast, she told him no, which meant that he had not had a chance to dine with her since she had returned, because of her accident, and then her recovery.

After the woman left yesterday, he pointedly avoided seeing Hermione. It was because at the time, he was not yet ready to reveal things to her. He still was not ready to reveal everything that he and the lady had discussed; however, he felt he had found out many important facts.

He looked at his wife, sitting all alone at the end of the table, and he asked, "Are you well enough to take your evening meal at the table? If you are not, I will have it taken to your room." He wanted her to leave the table, but for his sake, not hers. He still felt guilty about his admission concerning her mother, and he was not sure he wanted to face her.

"Does my husband want me to leave?" she asked. She raised her wine glass to her lips, but then let it drop back down to the table. When he gave her no response, she raised it again, and let it rest upon her bottom lip. He looked at that bottom lip with desire. He still desired his wife, more than anyone would ever know.

He sat at the other end of the long table, but she said, "Draco, have the footmen move your table setting next to mine, please."

"Is the light better over there?" he asked, playfully.

"No, but I am over here," she said pointedly.

He motioned to the footmen with a nod of his head. One picked up his glass, napkin and silver setting, the other his plates. He sat next to his wife, and motioned that the food should be served.

While waiting for the food, he distractedly moved a signet, emerald ring up and down his fourth left finger. Hermione noticed the action immediately. She looked up at his eyes. He soon looked directly at her.

"I have not seen that ring for a while," she said warily.

"It was returned to me," he said. In truth, he wanted her to notice.

"Do you wish to explain?" she asked.

He bowed his head. The footman on his right was serving the soup. Draco told the man to put the tureen on the table, and then he told all the servants to leave. He took the ring off his finger, set it in front of her and said, "The woman who had that ring was blackmailing me. I am now blackmailing her. Would you like to know why?"

"Yes, I would. Why are you blackmailing my stepmother?"

"Ah, your stepmother is not the woman to whom I refer," he said, leaning over to spear one of her potatoes from her plate.

"She was the one who had the ring, was she not?" Hermione asked.

"Think hard, my dear. Who had the ring on their finger the day you left me eight months ago?" he asked, as if he was asking her the time of day.

She thought for a moment, and then she sat upright and said, "Marie."

"Yes, young Marie, the squib maid," Draco said.

"When did you see Marie?" Hermione asked.

Draco took another bite of her food and said, "She came to call today, to our house."

"What did she tell you?" Hermione asked.

"Interesting things, to be sure," he said. "Things such as, perhaps your stepmother was not the one orchestrating things after all. Perhaps there was someone else. Perhaps two others."

"Draco, do not talk in riddles, for my emotions are frayed, and my nerves are on end, and frankly, my stomach is the size of a carriage," Hermione said sternly.

Draco smiled at his wife and said, "Suffice it to say that she was not completely forthcoming yet, but I have reasons to believe that she will be very, very soon. Especially when she finds out that I am the lesser of two evils, although I have never been thought of as such before."

"Meaning?" Hermione asked, throwing her napkin on the table, perturbed that he was beating around the bush.

"Mrs. Granger was blackmailing me, but the idea to do so was never her own, but young Marie still will not come right out and tell me whose idea it was, but she will tell me shortly. She also said that she knows that neither she nor your esteem step-mama were behind any of the accidents, that she has proof, and in exchange for her permanent removal from England, and ten thousand pounds, she will give me all the proof that I need. She stole this ring, from this very house, the day she left here, but she claims that she did so to scare Mrs. Granger into thinking that I gave it to her, but instead, when everything turned sour at the end, she decided to let you think that I gave it to her."

"Why?" Hermione was tired.

"Because she said that she wanted you to leave me that night. She thought if you left, you would be kept safe. She also said that she was afraid of someone who was in the hall that night, more than she feared the Aurors, Mrs. Granger, even Harry Potter, or me. She will not tell me who, because she said she is still afraid of this person. I took this ring back from her, by force, or magic if you will and I told her I would wear it proudly in front of everyone who attended that day. Therefore, everyone who was there will think that she is working with me, or that she told me everything that she knows anyway, so she might as well tell me what she really knows."

"Draco, you fool!" Hermione stood from the table. "If the girl is afraid, or being threatened, threatening her more will do no good! You should take her into your confidence! Offer to protect her!"

Draco popped another potato in his mouth, and he put his feet upon the table, and crossed his ankles. "First wife, ouch, for calling me a fool. Second, she is well protected, though she does not know it. It is better that she thinks she is in danger, but I do not really want her thus. Please, give me some credit."

Hermione leaned toward him, swiped his feet off the table, and hissed, "I only give credit where credit is due, Sir!"

She started out of the room when he said, "Your dear step-mama came to visit me again, too."

Hermione turned as fast as someone her girth could turn and she asked, "WHY?"

"To talk about the weather," Draco said languidly. He leaned toward Hermione's vacated plate, and began to eat her pheasant.

"Draco Malfoy!" Hermione shouted.

"Yes, my heart?" Draco asked.

"What did you speak of with that woman?"

"Oh, she said that she did not find out from Marie that I was the highwayman, so there goes that theory. I do not know how she found out. Interesting, no? She found out somehow. Young Marie also claims that she did not tell the former Mrs. Delacour, but she said she did tell another, but alas, she would not tell me at this time who it was that she told." Draco looked behind him toward his wife and said, "Are you going to eat your bread, darling?"

She huffed out of the room.

Draco yelled, "Does this mean that we are going to forgo yet another meal together, my lady?"

Hermione walked slowly up the stairs, all four flights, to the third floor, and down the long hallway to her room. She could scarcely believe what her husband had just told her. Her own stepmother had been blackmailing him, that much they had already known, but he said that Marie claimed neither of them had anything to do with any of her accidents. He also said that her blackmail had stopped, after Hermione left Draco, all those months ago.

Apparently, Hermione's father left her stepmother nothing. It was not a fact Hermione had known until recently. Draco had given the woman Hermione's dowry when they wed, which would have been enough to keep the woman comfortable for the rest of her days, but apparently, it was not enough to keep her in the lap of luxury, so she wanted more.

Therefore, the blackmail began. Draco said that Mrs. Granger would not tell him how she found out that he was the highwayman, but she find out she did, though he claimed that was a recent discovery, and that her blackmail was regarding their marriage, and had nothing to do with the highwayman.

That still did not explain the ring. Draco said that he never gave the other woman his ring. He claims he stole it from them, and then it was stolen from him, still, the last time Hermione saw it, it was on the hand of another, on the night that she left her husband, all those months ago.

Her head was spinning. She had more questions than answers. Hermione sat at her desk and wrote down three things on a piece of parchment. Number 1: "How and when did her evil stepmother find out Draco was the highwayman?" Number 2: "Did the blackmail have anything to do with the attempts on their lives?" and Number 3: "When will it end?" She decided something. The woman who came and saw her the other night claimed innocence, though she claimed she had knowledge as to who wanted to harm Hermione and why. Draco dismissed her claims, and said that the girl did not know a thing.

Hermione begged to differ. She called her maid Abby into the room.

"Yes, Madam?"

"Abby, I need you to help me to dress. I need to go into the village and visit someone. No one must know that I am gone."

The girl looked pensive. "But you are still unwell," she began. "And it is getting to be terribly late, my lady."

"It is a matter of life or death, Abby. I trust you. Please, will you help me?" she asked.

The girl nodded, however she was going to make sure that Lord Malfoy knew what his wife had planned. She asked, "Who are we to see?"

"My stepsister, Gabby."

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_A/N: Super long chapter, over 6000 words. This was two chapters, but again, if I kept this chapters 27 and 28, I would have had to end at 29 chapters, which I didn't want to do. So, this will once again be 28 chapters long. Which means what, dear ones? Correct, only one more chapter. YEAH! I wonder why when I get to the end of stories, writing always feels more like a chore than a pleasure? When I was finishing up the last chapter tonight, (which I wrote instead of writing chapter 17 of "An Unlikely Pair, No Longer" because seriously, no one is reading that one anyway) but, when I wrote down the guilty person, I had serious qualms and reservations, and I know it will seem like it is coming from left field, and people will go, "WHAT?" HA!_


	28. Chapter 28

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All characters belong to JKR

**Chapter 28: ****26, April, 1813, Hermione waiting for answers:**

When the woman came to Hermione's home, claiming innocence, wanting to explain, Hermione received her. True, she had no choice, as the woman barged in unannounced. True, Hermione was in no condition to leave the room unattended. Yes, when Draco became aware that the woman was there, he ushered her out of the house, this much was true. Still, Hermione heard her out, as much as she was able. Now, Hermione came to her, and she keeps Hermione waiting for over an hour.

"Perhaps we should go, Mistress. You truly look unwell," Abby complained. She wondered where Lord Malfoy was. She was not able to find him before they left in the carriage, so she told his man Pyle what the Lady of the house had planned. Surely, Pyle had informed Lord Malfoy by now. The young girl was worried.

Hermione could tell Abby was troubled, and she shared the girl's anxiousness. She felt slightly faint, and flushed as well. She reached in her dress for her wand, to make certain it was there, though she had done the same thing several times already.

Finally, the two women heard the door to the room where they were sitting open, but instead of a woman entering, a man entered, and Hermione's heart plummeted. Abby was right. They never should have come.

The man smiled and said, "Don't be afraid, Hermione. I promise not to hurt you. However, your maid really must not be here." He looked at the young girl and pointed his wand. Hermione winced, in her mind saying, 'please no.' However, instead of the death curse, he uttered another. The girl slipped over in her chair, unconscious. He walked up to Hermione and scooped her into his arms. He said, "What an awful lot of trouble you have been from day one. Nonetheless, I am so glad my friend and his accomplice was never able to kill you. That would have been a shame." He kicked open the door to that room, and started toward the front door of the house.

Just then, the woman Hermione came to visit appeared at the doorway and she said one thing. "Leave her here!"

This woman was not as lucky as Abby. The man raised his arm with his wand, and before Hermione could say a word, he said, "Crucio!" and the woman fell over in pain and agony. Hermione screamed. He lifted the curse, as the woman passed out from the pain, and fell over in a heap on the floor. The man looked down at the body of Hermione's stepsister and said, "That is what you get for your selfishness, sister dear." Bill Weasley stepped over the body and disapparated them both away, to the end of the block, where Hermione's carriage was waiting.

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Pyle was frantic. He had been searching for Draco for over an hour, and he still could not find him. He would have to go to Mrs. Granger's house by himself. He wondered if he should tell the Aurors or Harry Potter that the Mistress and his daughter had gone to see Gabriella Delacour.

It was late, and the sky was mostly dark, and though they took a carriage, he feared for their safety, and he wondered if they even arrived there. He knew the house was being guarded by friends of Lord Potter's, even though Pyle told his Master that they should use their own men, and trust no one else, but that did not mean that Abby and Hermione were safe.

He decision finally made, he apparated immediately to the London townhouse of Mrs. Granger. He found Gabby on the floor of the foyer. He leaned down, touched her cheek, but then left her suddenly when he heard his own daughter cry out from behind him, "Father, it was Bill Weasley!"

Pyle stood up, rushed to his daughter, took her hand, and they disapparated away.

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Draco paced the small parlor of Shell cottage. He looked at his pocket watch. He was told to meet Harry Potter here by Owl, over an hour ago, and when he arrived, he found a note on the door telling him to wait within, and now, nothing! It was odd enough that Harry Potter was not here, but odder still that the owners of the house, Bill Weasley and his wife, Fleur, were not in attendance. Draco sighed and wondered if something bad had happened to them. He decided to leave; he turned toward the door, and spied the young squib, the lady's maid, Marie, crossing from the opened door into the room.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

She looked pensive. She glanced around the room and said, "I was asked to come here, by Mr. Weasley. What are you doing here?"

Suddenly, Draco's instincts told him to flee. He took the young girl's hand, and even as she tried to draw it away, he dragged her outside, (in case there were wards) and he disapparated with her to Grey's Hall.

They arrived there just as Pyle and Abby arrived. Somehow, Draco knew, just from the look on Abby's face, that Hermione was gone.

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Bill slipped Hermione into the Malfoy carriage, and said, "Do not say a word, and do not try to leave. I shall have your wand." He held out his hand for her wand.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Explanations are forthcoming." He held out his hand once more. She bit her lip, and wondered what the footmen would do if she screamed right now. As if sensing that she was hatching a plan of escape, Bill stepped inside the carriage, reached inside her skirt pocket, and pulled out her wand. He said, "Do not make he hex you, Hermione. You are heavy with child, and I care deeply for you, and I would hate to do so, but I will, so help me, if you try to leave or try to draw suspicions upon us, I will curse you. Think of your child." He stepped out of the carriage and slammed the door shut hard.

From the side window, she could see him climb up to the seat of the large carriage, and utter something to the driver and the footmen. Then he opened the door and climbed back inside to Hermione. He said, "I hope you are up for a little trip. I'm taking you back to your cousin's home."

"Why?"

"You are leaving your husband, Hermione."

"No, I am not," she said back.

"Yes, you are," he said. He looked out the window, clearly letting her know that the conversation was over as far as he was concerned. Well, she was Hermione Granger, and the conversation would only be over when SHE said it was over.

She leaned over slightly, as far as her stomach would allow, and she said, "Bill, why are you doing this?"

He looked at her with a pained expression. He said, "I have no choice! I was not a party to this from the beginning, though." Then he turned his gaze back toward the window, shook his head and said, "Although, perhaps I was, because I knew things and I never told anyone. Oh, Hermione, I have made some terrible, terrible mistakes."

"Mistakes can be rectified," she placated.

"NO!" he all but shouted. "Your cousin has my wife and child, and that is all that matters at this point. Your life for theirs!"

"Bill," she said, reaching over and touching his sleeve, "we are wizards. We could overtake him. Even if he has armed guards over them, we could tell Harry, or the Aurors, or surprise him somehow. There will be a way."

He shook his head again. He looked down at her hand on his arm, and then he covered her hand with his own. He said, "You know that I married Fleur right before the war. It was a love match. She came from old money in France, and I came from nothing, but she loved me, and overlooked the fact that I was nothing. She even overlooked by affliction."

"Bill, you are NOT nothing," Hermione chastised, as she removed her hand. "And your affliction was thrust upon you, and cannot be helped!" He moved to the seat beside her. He reached over, and clasped her hand in his.

"Hermione, how like you to defend me, even while I am kidnapping you." He laughed and continued, "After we married, I soon found out that her family's pretense of money was just that, pretense. They were all but ruined, and had nothing left. It did not matter to me, or to Fleur, and I'm not sure it mattered greatly to her father, but her mother and young Gabby were used to the finer things, and money bought them happiness."

He let go of her hand, and looked back out the window. Hermione tried to reach for his hand again, but he shouted, "DO NOT TOUCH ME!"

Hermione cowered in the corner of the carriage. Bill took several deep breaths and with remorse he said, "Hermione, Hermione." He hung his head. "I apologize. The moon is expected to be full tonight, and my nerves are all but frayed." Hermione merely stared at him, and finally he began to talk again. "Monsieur Delacour was keeping his family afloat with money that was coming in from selling secrets during the war."

"I know," she said softly.

"Did you know that I helped hide your parents during the war?" He turned back finally to look at her.

"Yes," she answered.

"Your mother's family had died out; she had been in England for so long, that she knew no one. Monsieur Delacour helped me find a place for them to hide during the war. We knew that they would be vulnerable to a Death Eater attack, being your parents. The Order trusted me to hide them, and I in turn, trusted my father-in-law, and that was a mistake."

"Bill?" Hermione asked. What was he trying to say to her?

He could not look at her again. For the fourth time, he stared out at the darkening sky, the passing scenery whizzing by the carriage as they made their way to her cousin's estate. He said, "He told the Death Eaters where your parents were."

Hermione felt as if someone had taken all of the air out of her lungs. She could not speak, she could not think, she could not breathe. She wanted to cry, but even tears would not come. Bill looked at her again as he continued. "Draco told Lupin that he told his father that your family was in France, but Hermione, they already had that information, from Delacour. His payment for giving them that information was that emerald signet ring. Lucius Malfoy took it right off his finger and gave it to the grubby old man. I saw it with my own eyes, although I was hidden. I think Lucius probably intended to get the ring back someday. They probably had plans to kill Delacour, when his information was no longer useful, but he asked for the ring as payment, and he gave them solid information, so Malfoy gave up his ring."

"I went right to the Order, to warn them, and I found Draco there. He was warning them as well, but Hermione, he had only told them that your parents were in France. France is a large country. My father-in-law had given Lucius the exact location."

"Snape forced Draco to leave, and after he left, I told them what I saw. That was when we sent a team in to rescue them, but it was too late. Your mother was tortured to the brink of death, and she died in your father's arms two hours after they were rescued."

Hermione began to cry. She placed her hands upon her face, and rocked back and forth. "My wife never knew any of this. I have never told her, so she is guilty of nothing. I am guilty of knowing and not telling. After Delacour died, of a heart attack, right after the war, Madam Delacour insisted that I introduce her to your father. She knew he had money, and she wanted it for herself."

Hermione continued to cry, but she pulled down her hands to look at Bill.

"I refused at first, but she said that she would tell my wife that I could have saved Mrs. Granger's life, which I could have, if I did not help her, so I made the introductions. I believe she might have used the Imperius curse to make your father marry her."

"Oh, Bill," Hermione said, disappointment fueled in those two small words. "How could you? I've always looked up to you as an older brother, and a special friend."

Bill rubbed his face with his hands and said, "Lies beget lies, lies beget blackmail, blackmail beget more lies. It was a vicious, cruel, mean circle, Hermione, and I am not sure I have the means to break it. Not when your cousin holds my wife and my little girl."

"I still do not understand why all of this matters now?" she said. "We can set aside the past, and deal with it later. The blackmail can end. Gabby and your mother-in-law will no longer have a hold over any of us, because we all know the truth now, and it does not matter in the end. Why can this not end? And what does my cousin have to do with any of this?"

"Hermione, it is about so much more than the blackmail." Bill turned away again and said, "Besides, we are here."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I cannot believe Bill Weasley would take my wife!" Draco shouted throughout the main foyer of Grey's Hall. Abby had just explained what had happened, and he was shocked. He pulled out the note from his pocket and added, "That must be why the man drew me to his hovel! He wanted to be certain that I could not be around to protect my wife. He probably was going to come here for her!"

"Probably," Pyle agreed. "He could not have anticipated that she would go to her stepmother's house to visit Gabby."

Young Marie sat on a wooden bench along the long hallway, under a landscape of an autumn meadow. She looked over her shoulder at the large landscape. She remembered right after she came to stay here, at Gabby's insistence, to act as a spy, one day she stopped to look at this painting.

That day, Hermione stood behind her as she examined the painting and said, "When I was a child, I used to make up stories in my mind about all the painting in my home. Let us see if she can do it with this painting. See that little felled tree, by the brook? I imagine that a little girl, much like you, is hiding behind it, waiting for her friend to find her."

Marie said, "What if the little girl has no friends?"

Hermione said, "Wait, there is more." She pointed toward a distant hill in the landscape. Marie's eyes followed her hand and Hermione said, "There is another girl, who is also lonely and afraid, and she is wandering down that steep hill right now. She is new to this little hamlet, she has no friends, and she desperately wants a friend. As she comes around the bubbling brook, she sees the other little girl on the fallen tree limb. Do you see them, Marie?"

Marie's mouth was open, and her eyes inexplicably filled with tears. She shut her eyes and she said, "I see it." Then in a whisper, she said, "What is the little girl on the log's name?"

"Marie, but of course," Hermione said. "And the little girl who has just reached her side is Hermione, and she is reaching out her hand to her, and she is saying, I know that it is hard to be different, especially in a magical world, but I think we will be fast and true friends." Hermione reached for Marie's hand, squeezed it tight, and Marie opened her eyes. She saw Hermione's smile.

She stood from the bench, looked at the landscape this night as she did that day, and she realized that Hermione was the only person in the magical world who ever treated Marie as an equal, even though their stations were not equal. She hung her head and said in a soft voice, "Bill Weasley is taking her to her cousin's house."

Draco rushed to her side, and was about to swing her around, when Abby reached the young girl first. Abby placed a tentative hand on Marie's shoulder and said, "Tell us what you know."

Marie turned to face the trio and said, "I have worked for the Delacours since I was eleven years old. I was a squib, as you all know, and they never treated me kindly. My mother was their servant, but when they lost all their money, they could no longer pay their servants, so they all left them. My mother died, so I had nowhere to go."

She sat back down on the bench. Abby sat beside her and took her hand. "Monsieur Delacour lost all his money you see, to gambling and such. He tried to recoup his fortune by selling secrets during the Wizarding war. He sold secrets without prejudice, to both sides. I heard him talking one night, to his wife and youngest daughter that he finally made enough money so that they could once again live comfortably."

"He said that he told the Death Eaters where Hermione Granger's parents were, and no one would ever know, because apparently, Draco Malfoy thought he was the one who sold them out, when actually, he did so a full two days before Lord Malfoy, and he gave the exact location."

Draco felt a fury he had not felt in a very long time. He wanted to smash everything to bits, with his bare hands, but he remained in check, so the young girl could continue. "He had your ring, Sir. Your father gave it to him as payment, although later, after he died, the Mistress told people it was given to him as payment for glories he did during the War. I overhead everything. I always did. No one ever noticed I was there. It was as if I was a piece of the furniture, or a piece of bric-a-brac. People would talk in my presence, and never think anything of it, although I made it a point to store away everything people said."

"After Monsieur Delacour died, she demanded Bill Weasley, who by the way is the one who hid the Grangers in France, but she demanded he make introductions to the now widowed Mr. Granger. She told Gabby one night that she would marry him, even if she had to use the Imperius curse, and then after a respectable time, she would see to his untimely death, and then all his money would be hers. I knew she was a fool, because she was not aware that Muggle law was different from Wizard law. His money, land, title was all entailed away to Mr. Granger's second cousin."

"She killed Mr. Granger, waited for her fortune to come, and when his solicitor told her that besides a small trust for her and Gabby, and the London townhouse, everything else was entailed, she became enraged! She was angry because she didn't even still have the emerald ring to sell, because the highwayman had stolen it right after her marriage to Mr. Granger."

"She found out about Hermione's dowry, from the solicitor, and she also found out that Hermione's mother had left her money and land in France, and that it was to be administered by her cousin, until she reached her majority or until she wed. She went to see this cousin, along with Gabby and myself. First, she tried to offer Gabby as a bride to him, even though he was ten years older than she was. He wasn't interested, or taken by her beauty."

Marie stood up and walked over to the other side of the hallway as she continued. "Then, she explained all about magic to him. I was shocked. She told him about Hermione's part in the war, and how she was held in high esteem. She told him that to marry her would be a feather in anyone's cap, and perhaps he should marry her instead, since she was closer to his age, and then he would also have all of her money."

"Why would she want him to marry Hermione?" Abby asked, as the question begged to be asked.

"It was the day after Lord Malfoy presented himself to Lady Granger, to ask for Hermione's hand. All I can assume is that she immediately thought if the Muggle cousin, the new Viscount, did not want Gabby, then perhaps she could secure Lord Malfoy and his money for Gabby instead, by offering Hermione to the cousin."

"The man immediately became quiet. We could all tell he was seriously considering the offer. He admitted that he already knew about her magic, as her father has already told him about it years before. He also said that the viscounty did not bring with it as much money as he suspected. He agreed to her terms. He said if she could arrange for Hermione to be brought to him, he would arrange for her to marry him."

"But she married me instead," Draco said plainly. "And the accidents began."

"If she died, the money from her trust would go to the trustee, her cousin," Marie said plainly. "But I never once tried to kill her, I promise you that. I acted as spy for Gabby and the Viscount, but even Mrs. Granger did not know about the new plan to kill Hermione. Mrs. Granger was resigned to blackmailing Lord Malfoy for her money. She never wanted to kill Hermione. She knew nothing of those plans."

"Who planned all the accidents?" Draco asked.

"Gabby did. All of them. Each time one failed, she became more and more enraged. She wanted Hermione to die, so that she could take her place as Lady Malfoy, but also, so the Viscount could collect Hermione's inheritance. She thought that the cousin would be so happy that he would offer payment to her."

Draco shook his head and said, "He had ample time and opportunity to kill her all those months she was on his estate. None of this makes sense!"

Abby spoke. "I might shed some light there. When we arrived there, at first, there were a few strange accidents, but I was able to thwart them, but even the cousin seemed mystified and upset by them. I think he never had anything to do with her accidents. I really feel that was all Gabby. After a couple of months there, we discovered Hermione was with child. She told her cousin, and for some reason, all the bizarre accidents stopped."

Marie said, "No, the cousin knew that Gabby had tried to kill Hermione while she was here at Grey's Hall. I believe he also knew her attempts continued through me at his estate, where I was now employed, although Abby and Hermione never knew I was there. The reason the attempts were feeble, was that I never really wanted her dead. That was the reason he was upset."

"Gabby said that she felt double crossed by the cousin, because he realized that if he married Hermione, instead of killing her, he would be richer still. She would still have her inheritance, and she would have the only heir to the Malfoy fortune, because Hermione would soon be a widow with a child, as his plan had then changed to killing you, Lord Malfoy. That was the cousin's plan, in any case. Gabby was furious. That would leave her out of everything! She would have nothing, don't you see?"

"Her mother was no longer getting money from you, because she could no longer blackmail you about the highwayman, which by the way, I informed them of after Abby and I read it in one of Lady Malfoy's journals, and I am so sorry, but she could not blackmail you with that, because no one would believe it any longer. She could no longer blackmail you about giving up the Granger's location during the war, because Hermione was no longer with you, and she thought it would not matter. Her mother's means to money was gone. Gabby decided that could not happen to her."

"When the cousin informed Gabby that Hermione was coming to tell you of her pregnancy, Gabby was only meant to spy and make sure that she returned back to the cousin's estate after the information was given. Instead, she caused that last accident. That was when I went into hiding. I could no longer be a party to any of this. I could not. I wanted it to end. I may not have used my own hand to hurt Lady Malfoy, but I did nothing to stop it either. I am so, so sorry."

Marie walked slowly up to Draco and said, "She was perhaps the only magical person to ever treat me as if I was not inferior to her. I tried to help in my own way. I did not have magic, but I tried. I knew about the fire the first night, but I could do nothing, but after that, I refused to help Gabby. I gave her false information, and I botched the things she wanted me to do. The treacle tart was supposed to kill her right away, but I made sure most of the poison went down the drain. Please, Sir, I know you hate me, but I do not wish to see Lady Malfoy killed."

"You were afraid of Gabby, that is understandable, since you do not have magic," Draco said, his hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, Sir, I have not been afraid of Gabby for a long time, it is Bill Weasley that I now fear. That night eight months ago, in the hall, when your wife disappeared, he had already made the pact with her cousin to deliver her to him whenever he had the chance. The cousin was blackmailing him by this point, because he had found out from Gabby that Bill knew what had happened to Hermione's mother, and that he had known that the former Mrs. Delacour had used magic to marry Mr. Granger, and to possibly kill him, and had told know one. Gabby and the Viscount threatened Bill that they would tell Fleur if he did not help them."

"He went to visit the Viscount with Harry Potter. I know, because I went as well, to accompany his wife Fleur, and to help with their baby. Harry Potter knew that the attempts on Lady Malfoy would not stop, so he wanted to secure a safe haven for her, and Bill suggested the cousin. I wanted to shout to the heavens, 'NO', but I could not. I took him aside, earlier that week, and I told him everything. I told him about my duplicity, and about the duplicity of his mother-in-law, and his sister-in-law. I knew that he felt responsible for what happened to Mrs. Granger, so I thought of him as a kindred spirit. I thought he would understand my pain and shame, and that he would understand me, and forgive me. I thought it would end. I thought he would tell Harry Potter that the cousin was an evil man, and that Gabby was behind the attempts, and I really, really thought it would all finally end!"

The young girl began to cry steadily. "That was when he put his arm around me, and he said, 'You will never tell another soul what you have just told me, or your life will be forfeited. Hermione will go to her cousin, this will all be over, and then I will send you away. You can go away with your life, or you can be buried under the ground, it is your choice,' and so I made my choice. I came here that night," she continued, her eyes directly on Draco, "with the ring I had stolen. I wanted to have courage, the type of courage that Hermione had always shown. I wanted to have courage for her! I was going to tell you everything! I thought that you would protect her, and me, and everyone else could do to hell."

"But then, everyone was here, and accusations were flying everywhere, and I was afraid, because Bill Weasley was standing right beside me, and Gabby was there, and so was Mrs. Granger and Hermione had just announced from the stairs that she was leaving you, so I said nothing. I said and did nothing. My courage waned, and I did nothing." She collapsed on the floor, crying.

Pyle motioned to his daughter to help the girl. He said, "Take her to the servants wing, and put her to bed. Have someone watch over her."

Draco wanted to ask Pyle what they should do, but he realized that it was his wife, and his problem, and he had to solve it. He also realized that it was the middle of the night, and that he might need help. He decided to send Harry Potter an Owl, but just as he was rushing to this study to compose the letter, an Owl arrived for him.

It read, _"Dearest, Draco. I am leaving you. I no longer love or trust you. I am going back to my cousin's house. Do not come to find me. Hermione."_

* * *

_A/N: Okay, I'm such a big, fat liar because I said this was only going to be 28 chapters, but if that is the case, then this story is over, and truly, how angry would you all be if I put a big "THE END" right after that last sentence? _

_Actually, I'm not big or fat, but I am a liar, because this stupid story has to be longer than 28 chapters. This chapter was exhausting to write, and I'm sure it was exhausting to read, but everything had to be revealed, but as I was re-reading it, and I realized it was 24 pages long in 'Word', which at a font size of 12, is long, (almost twelve thousand words) so I realized I had to break it up. Therefore, I now say that this will have TWO more chapters…the rest of this one, which will be chapter 29, and is already written and coming soon, and then an epilogue, which will be chapter 30. That's my lie and deceit. See, lies beget lies. It's all very foretelling, isn't it?_

**_**_by the way...a reader has made a video for my story "A Familiar Place" on Youtube. You can go to my Author's page, and I will put the link at the top, and click on it and see it. It is great, and a big thank you to her!!**


	29. Chapter 29

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 29**:

The pain was unbearable, and all Hermione wanted to do was to push, but Fleur told her to steady her breathing. She told her to try to wait until the Healer or the midwife could be called upon, although Hermione did not think she could wait. Waiting was worse than the pain.

When they arrived at her cousin's estate earlier, it was very late, and the man himself was waiting for them at the end of the long staircase. While Hermione was staying here before, she lived in a small cottage on the estate, and though this house was at one time her home, nothing seemed as it was. The furniture, the paintings, the tapestries and the carpets were all the same, but this place was no longer her home. This man was not her family.

He had the gall to smile at her, and take her hand. The pain had started on the ride here, so she did not fight him off, instead, she said, "I am tired."

He smiled again, kissed her hand, which he still held, and said, "Of course, my love, but before I show you to your room, you must do me one favour. You must pen your beloved husband a note, and explain to him that you will not be returning home."

Hermione asked, "Why would I do that?"

He looked up the stairs, to where a woman was holding Bill and Fleur's young daughter. He looked back to Hermione and said, "Any other questions?" Fleur ran to her husband's arms, from somewhere in the back of the house.

Hermione swallowed hard, looked from Bill, to Fleur, to her cousin and said, "Kindly show me parchment and quill, and then I really must take my leave. I fear I may be having this child tonight."

That was four hours ago. Her cousin, the Viscount, promised to send for a magical Healer, but thus far, none had arrived. Fleur was attending to her, along with two of the upstairs maids, and the housekeeper.

Fleur finally said, "Hermione, we cannot wait. We shall have to do this without a Healer, yes?"

"Fleur, I am scared. I want my husband. I even find that I want my mother." Hermione began to cry through the pain.

Fleur held her hand. "Hermione, I am so sorry for all of this. Bill wanted to help you from the beginning. If you had elected not to marry Lord Malfoy, he was prepared to take you, and me, and our daughter away to France, and hide us all there, but you loved Draco, we could see that. However, Bill had no idea things would get so out of hand. He thought it was all over after you married, but then the Viscount came to see us, along with Gabriella. They came up with the plan for Gabriella to go see you, profess her innocence, and then it was their hope that you would take her into your confidence, so they could draw you out. Just in case that did not happen, Gabriella had already delivered my daughter, her own niece, to this evil man. She is our child, Hermione. Bill and I would give our own lives for her." She stroked Hermione's hair from her face.

Hermione moved her head, and brushed aside Fleur's hand and said, "And apparently, you would also give the life of my child, and me, for her."

"Oh, Hermione. He took our wands. What are we to do? My little girl is held here. He plans to take your child, too, as soon as it is born. Only then, he claims, will he give us back our own. He knows the only way to control you, short of magic, is by threatening your child. If you fear for your child's life, you will tell Draco goodbye, and swear to him that you want a divorce."

"I will never do that," Hermione said. She grunted, and then moaned in pain.

"You will see things differently when that child is out of your belly, and into your arms," Fleur said. She motioned to one of the maids to bring the clean sheets and water closer. Hermione screamed.

Outside, Draco and Harry Potter paced along the perimeter of the estate of the Viscount of Grinmark. Draco said, "How much longer must we wait, Potter?"

"As long as it takes, Malfoy," Harry said back.

"That is easy for you to say! She is not your wife! It is not your child!"

"Never underestimate what I feel for the ones I love, Malfoy!" Harry shouted, "And I know of my guilt in this! I know I delivered her into the clutches of this evil man all those months ago. I was duped by him, but I told you, I will make things right. If things are as we suspect, and as Gabby tells us, and the Viscount is holding Fleur and Victoire hostage, then we must act with all caution."

"Why would the girl deem to tell us the truth now?" Draco asked. "For all we know, Fleur and the little girl are dead, and Bill has been in on this since the beginning."

"We used truth serum on her, Malfoy. She had no choice but to tell us the truth!" Harry spat back. "As of right now, we must wait."

"Can we use your invisibility cloak?" Draco asked.

"No, Malfoy. We really must take caution. The man may have other wizards or witches working for him. Wait."

Draco sat back down on the morning grass, which was wet with dew. The sun was finally rising in the sky, casting an eerie pink glow across the landscape. The house looked silent. Was his wife somewhere within? Was she hurt? Was she scared? Was she in pain? Was she in labour? They saw a physician entering the courtyard earlier. They knew he was a physician, as Pyle had stopped and questioned the man before he entered the vast estate. Was he there for his wife?

The waiting was killing him. He pulled on a blade of grass, and moved it nonchalantly over his lips, imagining it was her lips touching his. He threw it lightly on the ground, stood back up and said, "Potter, I can wait no longer. We must devise a plan and get into that house! We are wizards, and he is a Muggle! There must be a way!"

Harry frowned and said, "Unfortunately, the protection charm that I put on the house all those months ago also keeps us at bay. We cannot enter without entering through conventional methods, such as by the door. Therefore, we wait, for now."

Back inside, Fleur walked out to the hall from the bedchamber that housed Hermione, leaving the physician alone in the room with her. Bill was waiting in the corner. He looked tired. She said, "There is a full moon tonight."

"I am aware!" he snapped.

"I am sorry to point out the obvious," she snapped back. "She is having a horrible time. She needs magic. She needs a Healer. It is too soon, and the child is breech."

"What would you have me do?" he shouted at his wife.

"I would have you be the honourable man that I fell in love with, Bill." Fleur walked back into the room, but before she closed the door, she said, "He did take your wand, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then the full moon might work to your advantage tonight. Think about it." She slammed the door hard.

Bill slumped in the corner.

The Viscount soon joined him in the hall and he said, "Does she need to scream so loudly?"

Bill looked up at the horrible man and said, "She is in pain, and there are complications. You really should let me go for a Healer. If she or the child dies, you will have nothing. All of this will have been for naught."

"Fine!" he said to the wizard, "but no tricks! Remember, your wife is here, and your child is well guarded up on the upper floor. I do not relish hurting women and children, and in fact, that was never part of my plan. That was your dear sister-in-law's idea, not mine, and not one I relished. This is a better plan. I am most pleased that you cursed the girl Gabby. I am glad she is out of the way."

"Except by now, she will have told everyone everything," Bill said.

"And implicated herself?" he asked. "I think not."

Bill would not tell the man about a little thing called, 'Veritaserum'. The less this man knew about magic, the better. He started toward the stairs and the Viscount said, "No tricks, Weasley. Bring one of your Healers, but remember, I know what Harry Potter looks like, and I know Lord Malfoy, too. No tricks."

Bill ran down the stairs and out the door. He apparated to the edge of the estate, and thank goodness, the very people he had hoped to see were there: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

Fleur sat beside Hermione on the bed. She was tired, and unable to continue to push. The physician said, "She needs to push."

"She is weak. She had a recent illness, and she has not completely healed," Fleur said. She was concerned. "Can you do nothing for her?"

"Not if she will not push," the man said. He walked out to the hall and found her cousin. "She is very weak, My Lord. She is bleeding as well, and though I believe I have turned the baby, if she does not deliver it soon, both mother and child will die. I do not know what else I am expected to do."

The Viscount grabbed the man by the throat and said, "You are expected to do what I pay you to do! If either of them dies, it will be your head!"

"I know you care for your cousin, Sir," the man said.

Hermione's cousin snarled. He cared very little for the woman he barely knew, but he cared greatly for her money. If she died, while still married to another, then her husband would receive all of her inheritance. If the child died, then not all would be lost. True, the plan to kill Malfoy would have to end, but he could still force her to divorce the man, and force her to marry him. Then, once married to her, he could care less what happens.

He looked at the older man and said, "If you must save one life, save the life of my cousin. The child can die for all I care." He stormed down the hallway. The physician went downstairs to the kitchen, for a cup of tea.

Fleur stood by the doorway, shocked at what she had just heard. She slipped back in the room and whispered in Hermione's ear, "Hermione, I know this is hard, and I know you are in pain, and weak, but your child's life hangs in the balance. Please, please, push for me, and for your baby."

"I cannot," she said feebly.

Fleur stood back up and said, "Then you will die! Your child will die! I am ashamed of you! I thought I was ashamed of my real family, but at this moment, I am ashamed of you for giving up without a fight!" She knew her words were harsh, but they needed to be. She needed to provoke Hermione. She needed Hermione to fight harder than she had ever fought in her life.

Bill explained everything to Harry, Pyle and Malfoy. Harry and B ill decided that Pyle would go back in, under the guise of a Healer. There was little time to send for a real Healer, as Bill explained that Hermione's labour had gone on for too long as it was, and that she was dangerously close to losing her fight.

Draco insisted that he too had to go to the house. Bill said, "You cannot. I was instructed to bring only a Healer; in addition, you are too well recognized."

"No, wait," Draco said. He took his wand, and said the charm that he had uttered all those months ago, to change his hair and eye colour. He turned to Harry and said, "Do you recognize me?"

"As Malfoy or as the highwayman?' Harry asked, perturbed. "Because even without the mask, I know who you are."

"I do not care if you arrest me when this is over, Potter. Fine, I'm the highwayman, now, do you recognize me as Malfoy?"

"I do, but I doubt that her cousin will," Harry admitted. "He has only met you that one time, when you came to ask for her hand in marriage, and you said that he acted disinterested and distracted that day. It may work."

He nodded toward Harry and then said, "I need your wand. I will have mine taken from me as soon as I enter. I must conceal yours somewhere on my body."

"The man will think of that," Bill protested. "He searched me very well."

"Do not take the chance," Harry said. "However, I've been in that house before, and I know for certain that Hermione's father kept pistols in his study, and there are also a number of swords, in fact, there was once a saber hanging over the desk. If you have to, use a Muggle weapon." Harry turned to Bill and asked, "How many men guard his house?"

"A fair few, but they are all Muggles. If we can get wizards inside, we can overthrow them easily."

"I need some time, to get reinforcements here. You and Draco go back to the house, Pyle will wait here, and I shall return with help. We will rescue your daughter and wife, Bill, and Hermione and your child, Malfoy. I swear on it." Harry disapparated away.

Bill and Draco re-entered the house, and immediately, several footmen came to search them for wands. The Viscount came down the stairs and he said, "Gentlemen, the physician said that my cousin is close to death. He claims it is the life of the child, or the life of my cousin. If I have to pick one, I pick the woman's. Do not let her die, or the little girl and Mrs. Weasley dies. Do we understand each other?"

A footman drew Draco's wand out of his pocket even as Draco said, "I will need that to do my healing."

The Viscount looked closely at Draco. He walked the rest of the way down the stairs, and looked closer at his face. "Have we met?"

"I make a point never to associate with Muggles," Draco leered.

"And I usually make a point never to associate with evil oddities, but there you go," the man said back to Draco. He took the wand back from the footman, and handed it to Draco, saying, "But remember, man, the life of this other man's wife and child hangs in the balance. A knife is at the throat of his baby daughter as we speak. One false move from you and it will draw blood. Do you understand?"

Draco silently cursed the man, in his mind thinking of all the things he wanted to do and say, but then he heard Hermione scream. She was in pain. She was in terrible pain. Draco looked up the stairs, then back to the face of her evil kin, and said, "I understand you perfectly. I am a kind, and generous man, and I would never do anything to harm anyone, I assure you." He ran up the stairs, two at a time, not even knowing where he was going.

Bill overtook him and pointed toward Hermione's bedchamber.

Fleur met them and ran to her husband's arms. She said, "There is so much blood, and the baby will not come out. I believe the cord is around its neck. The Muggle physician does not know what to do. Have you brought a Healer?" She looked at Draco, and immediately recognized him. She took his hand and said, "At least, tell her goodbye."

"No!" Draco seethed. He went over to his wife. He looked back and saw that the cousin had left the room. Draco said, "I want the physician, and all the other Muggles to leave this room, now!"

"There is nothing more I can do, anyway. They are both lost," the physician said. He left the room, along with the other servants. Fleur ran back to the bed, along with Bill.

Draco knelt beside the bed, his hand on his wife's wet brow, and he said, "Hermione, I am here. I am here."

Her eyes were closed, but she was awake enough to hear and recognize her husband's voice. She truly thought she would die before hearing it again. She said, "Draco? Please, save our baby. Please."

"I shall save you both," he said quietly. He kissed her lips, and then brushed away a tear from her cheek. He stood up, and the sight of all the blood caused him emotional and physical pain. He looked at Fleur and said, "What shall we do?"

He took out his wand.

Fleur closed her eyes, as if in silent prayer, and said, "For heaven's sake, disapparate her away. Get her to a Healer. Do not worry for the rest of us. Please."

"No, we shall all live to see another day," Draco said. "Anyway, I fear it would be too late." He took his wife's hand. Fleur took Draco's wand, and said several healing spells for the pain, and another one to impede the bleeding.

Then she said another spell and told the men, "The cord was wrapped around the babe's neck, but I have removed it. Now, we must deliver this child."

Draco bent down toward his wife to lie partially on the bed. She was so still and quiet. He stroked her hair and said, "Do not leave me, Hermione. Do not give up on our child." He kissed her forehead, and continued to say encouraging words, unsure if she was even aware of them.

Fleur and Bill were busy trying to deliver the baby. With a few more spells, the child was soon delivered, and wrapped in a sheet. Bill took the baby over to the fireplace, where a basin of water awaited. Draco could not hear it crying.

The room was so silent.

The silent was deafening.

The deafness was like a hallowing roar, a rage that tore through his soul. He stood and said, "Does the child live? Does my wife live?" He looked toward Bill's back, and Fleur's face.

Bill yelled for his wife. "I need the wand, Fleur!"

"I need it, too! The bleeding has started anew, and I cannot stave it off! We are losing her!" Fleur was moving around the bed rapidly, saying every spell she knew.

Draco ran from the room in a blinding rage. He did not know if his wife or his child lived or died, but he knew one thing, the man who had caused this would die, right now, and by Draco's bare hands if necessary. He flew down the stairs quickly; he did not even remember his feet moving.

He ran toward the man's study, on the first floor. It was the place where Draco had met him the day he came to bargain for Hermione's hand, almost a year ago. He threw open the door, even as the man threw up his feet on the desk, and threw back a glass of brandy.

"Is it over?" the man asked. "It has been a long night. Did my cousin live?"

Draco looked above the man's head. There was a long sword. He rushed behind the desk, throwing the man off guard. He stumbled from his chair, even falling completely out of it, before Draco reached the weapon. The man reached in his boot, and brought out a pistol.

They both stood, facing each other, one with a long barreled pistol, and one with a sword. The Viscount said, "I recognize you now! I know you! You are Malfoy!"

Draco shook his head and said, "No, I am the man who is going to kill you."

The Viscount pulled the trigger, and the single shot rang out, and hit Draco's shoulder, with a hot, blinding, searing pain, slashing through his nerves and muscles. The shock of what happened lasted a mere second, as Draco lunged forward, and sunk the steel blade of the saber straight through the other man's chest.

The man fell back to the floor, his eyes wide with shock. Draco dropped the sword, and looked at his shoulder. Crimson blood covered his jacket, soaking through his waistcoat and linen shirt. He sunk back into the abandoned chair, and closed his eyes, giving into the pain. It was all too much to bear.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His head was spinning, and there was a distant sound of someone walking on the stone slab floor around him. He clutched at the material of the sheets around his body, and tried to open his eyes. His mouth was dry, and his eyes felt like grit. The shadows and lights shifted until they became coherent forms, and somehow, he found his voice, though it sounded strangled and strange even to him.

He asked, "Where am I?"

Fleur Weasley walked up to him and smiled. "You are at home, Lord Malfoy. You are at home."

Draco looked from her face to the room around him. There was a lantern on the bedside table, alit with flame. There was a fire in the grate of the fireplace. The curtains opened to reveal some light, so it was daytime. He needed to ask questions, but he was afraid.

Draco Malfoy was afraid. What an odd concept. It had been so long since he had allowed himself feelings such as fear, or baser emotions such as love, but since Hermione had come back into his life, he had begun to feel these things again, and because of this, he was afraid to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. Was she alive? Was his child alive? If they did not live, he would close his eyes again, and will death to claim him as well.

He turned his head and closed his eyes. He heard movement around him. He heard the low murmur of voices. Was he a coward if he did not ask about his wife? Was his fear unfounded?

"Malfoy?"

Damn, it was Potter.

Draco could face this man any day. He opened his eyes.

"The Viscount is dead."

"Good."

"You killed him."

"I know."

"The Aurors are taking care of everything. The Ministry has decided that it is best if we do not involve the Muggle authorities," Harry explained.

"Do I care about this?" Draco asked.

"Do you?" Potter asked back.

Draco closed his eyes again and said, "I think I dislike you very much, Potter, but thank you, nonetheless."

"Do you want to know about your wife and child?" Harry asked.

Draco felt a profound sadness, and he had yet to hear about their fate. His chest felt heavy. He knew he was close to tears, but he would not let Harry Potter, of all people, ever see him cry. He opened his eyes and said, "Just tell me one thing, Potter."

"What, Malfoy?"

"Do they live?"

"Yes."

"Truly?"

"Yes, and they will be fine."

Draco Malfoy could ask nothing more. His shoulder hurt like hell, his head felt heavy, his heart felt full, and his eyes felt like lead. They closed on their own, he fell back to sleep, and for once, he was no longer afraid.

When he awoke again, it was night. He was certain. It might not have been the next night, but it was night. He sat up, felt slightly woozy, and swung his feet to the floor. He winced in pain. His man Pyle ran toward the bed.

"Lord Malfoy?"

"Get a dressing robe," Draco ordered. He looked down and noticed that he had on a white nightshirt, and nothing else.

"Are you going for tea?" the older man joked.

"No, I need to see my wife and child," Draco insisted.

"I think that is a perfectly good request," Pyle said. He got a robe from the wardrobe, and slipped it over Draco's shoulders, since Draco could not slip his arms into it. It covered his nightshirt the best that it could.

Draco started toward his wife's room, but looked back at Pyle and said, "Is it really over, Pyle?"

"It is indeed, Sir," Pyle said. "This means that I must go back to being a mere Valet. Whatever shall I do with myself?"

"Thank you," Draco said, instead of commenting on the man's statement. The man smiled and nodded, after all, it was what a good servant did.

Draco opened the adjoining door that went from his room to his wife's room. She was on her bed, and Abby was sitting in a chair by her bed, reading a book aloud. It was the book of fairytales. Abby stood when Draco entered the room, placed the book on the table, and curtseyed, before she started toward the main door.

Draco reached out, and grabbed her arm, the whole time his eye's on his wife. "Abby?"

"Sir?"

He looked down at the girl. "Where is my child?"

"In the Nursery, down the hall," she said. "My mother is attending the baby. She was your nurse when you were young, if you recall."

"Yes, she was."

"Do you want to know what you type of baby you had?" she asked with a smile.

Draco smiled back and said, "I hope it was a human one."

"Of course, Sir," the girl said with a laugh.

"My wife will tell me."

"Sir, she is sleeping. The Healer's gave her a blood replenishment potion, and she has been sleeping for the last two days, with only slight moments of wakefulness. I was reading to her, but I am not sure she heard me," Abby said. "She has yet to hold your baby. I am not even aware if she knows what you had yet."

"Then bring the child to us in about an hour," Draco insisted.

Abby smiled and left the room.

Draco placed his body beside hers and gathered her into his arms, the best that he could, with his shoulder injury. He realized he was shaking, and he knew that it was not mere nerves, but something more, more than relief, more than even shock. He felt profound and disturbing contentment, and he was overwhelmed. It was over, she was safe, she was in his arms, and they had a child. It was all either of them had ever wanted. He held her as if she was fragile, because she was, and surely she would break, just as surely as if she were a china doll, or a piece of spun glass.

He kissed the top of her head, and whispered, "You are finally safe. You have your family, Hermione."

"You kept your promise," she said in return.

"Did you pretend to sleep?" he asked, with a smile.

She opened her eyes, though at first she could not focus. She said, "I did not pretend. How shocking that you would accuse me of such a thing. I have been through a lot. I had a baby, you know."

"I was shot," he said, smiling.

She looked up at his face and said, "Well, then, by all means, being shot trumps being kidnapped and having a baby any day."

He laughed and said, "Now, what promise did I keep. I make so many, and most of them are empty."

"You said you would keep me safe," she said.

That statement made him sad, not proud or happy. He said, "Oh, Wife, I did not keep you safe. I did not protect you. Please, do not think that I did. I am ashamed of so many things, but of that one, I am the most ashamed."

"No, Husband, you did. You saved our baby and me. You did. No one else, you did. Harry told me so," she said. She began to cry, so he wiped away her tears and hushed her.

"Fine, believe Potter, since he never lies, and I lie all the time. If he claims that I saved your life, it must be true," he said, with a tint of fake disdain.

She placed a hand, slowly, on his face and said, "He actually told me that the highwayman saved me. How curious is that?"

"Very, Wife, because I thought that man was gone. See, I knew it wasn't me," Draco said with another kiss to her cheek. His arms tightened around her, showering her with warmth and comfort.

"We have a son," Hermione said. "A son."

"That is wonderful," he said, and he meant it. "He is being brought into our room shortly."

She nodded, but her eyes closed again. He said, "You sleep again, my love. You sleep." He remained by her body, stroking, touching, caressing, watching, and trying hard to believe that it was truly and completely over and done. The candles burned low, the sky outside turned darker, and the fire in the fireplace needed stoked twice. His child had been brought in and taken back out, and brought in again while she slept. He held him for a while, not sure what to do with the little thing, for he was so very little. When he was brought in the second time, Draco placed the babe on the bed beside his mother, but she remained asleep.

Finally, he picked the little boy back up, holding him gingerly in one arm, because of his injury, and he walked with him to the window. He sat down by one of the long windows, and looked out at the bright, star filled, night sky. He said, "Someday, this whole world could belong to you, if you so want, little man." He kissed his son's forehead, and held him to his chest.

He looked back over at his wife, as she stirred in her sleep, and he realized that the concern and compassion he felt for her before was tenfold now, and was nothing compared with the fierce compassion and concern he now felt for the little child in his arms, or the woman on the bed. He once heard his mother say that a woman loved their child from birth, but that a father had to learn to love their child. What poppycock. He loved his child already. He loved him more than he could ever imagine.

He would never let fear and helplessness gain control of him again, not with regard to his family. Panic would never again rule him. It would never stifle his love for his family, and terror would never control his life. Neither would selfishness. His family would be first. Gone was the egocentricity that once ruled his life. Gone were the self-centeredness and the life that was ruled by possessions, power and money.

This was what was important, the things in this room. The people here with him: his wife, his child. His child without a name.

He walked over to Hermione's bed and bent down and said, "Wake up, Wife."

She opened her eyes slowly. She smiled when she saw that Draco was holding their small son. "He's so small," she said. She reached up and touched the baby's hand.

"Please, he's sensitive. Do not say things like that," Draco said, as he sat beside her on her bed. She reached over and stroked the baby's head. "It occurred to me, Wife, that he really must have a name."

"We could call him, 'Son', since you call me 'Wife' and I call you 'Husband'," she suggested.

"What utter nonsense," he replied. "He must have a strong name, which denotes his place in the world."

"What is his place?" Hermione asked. She reached for her son, and Draco placed the baby on the bed beside his mother, as the small baby continued to sleep.

"His place is anywhere he wants. He can be or do anything," Draco said softly. "He can be anything, from a highwayman, to a king."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Well, he can," Draco said back.

Abby walked back into the room and said, "I think I should take the baby to his wet nurse."

Hermione nodded, and kissed her son's head. She said, "I am still so tired." Draco lay down beside her, on top of the covers. "Are you in pain?" she asked.

"Nothing too bad," he lied. He was in a lot of pain, but after everything that she had been through all these months, he would not complain. In fact, he was not going to complain ever again.

He stayed on his back, pulled her to his chest with his good arm, and said, "Again, the name of our son is what, Wife?"

"Marcus?" she said.

"After Flint?" he asked, shocked and appalled!

"Oh, I knew I had heard that name somewhere," she said with a yawn. "I've always liked Harry."

"If you refuse to discuss this seriously, we can discuss it at another time," he said to her.

"I like Dante," she said. "Do you?"

"After Dante Alighieri, the Muggle poet?" Draco asked.

"Yes," she answered. "One of my favourite quotes of Dante's is, '_The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis.' _I think that one describes how brave you were, because during the war, at great risk to yourself, and against everything you were brought up to believe, you did what was right, and you helped the right side. You helped all of us."

"Did I really?" he asked quietly. "Sometimes I wonder if your life would have been better if I had left you alone that day I saw you in the woods. Perhaps I should have just kept watching you from afar, and maybe I should not have talked to you. I should not have approached you. It was selfish of me, but then again, being selfish was what I did best, back then."

"Was it really?" she asked. Her head was on his shoulder, and she placed her hand on his chest. "I think it was _selfless_. Whether you believe it or not, you gave yourself to me, and I will be forever grateful."

Draco said, "Do you know my favourite Dante quote? '_In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost'."_

"Why is that your favourite?" she asked.

"I think it describes how I felt," he said. "I was lost before I met you again. That was why I revealed myself to you in the woods that day. The way was lost, I was lost, and then I saw you, and the way was revealed to me."

"_Without hope, we live in desire," _Hermione quoted. "We have to have hope. We cannot just want things to happen, but we have to have faith and hope that they will happen, and you have made all my hopes and dreams happen, Husband. Thank you."

Draco smiled. "You have given me so much more than I could ever give you."

"No, because you gave me a family, which I have wanted for so long," she countered.

"Ah," he said, "but you see, Wife, you gave me my life, and my soul, which is a greater gift to bestow. You made me a truly kind and generous man, not just in action, or words, but in my heart."

"You are a sentimental fool, Lord Malfoy," Hermione said, closing her eyes.

"Please, call me Husband, because it matters greatly to me," he said once again.

"Husband, you are a sentimental fool," she repeated.

"Sweeter words, wife, you could never utter," he said. He kissed her brow and closed his eyes as well.

- The End -

(Coming up: Epilogue: A short little future glimpse of their life together)


	30. Chapter 30: Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**June 14, 1824:**

A knock on his study door brought Draco away from his daydreams. He had been remembering a time, long ago, when he first saw his wife again, during the war. He thought of that time often. He often wondered if he hadn't spoken to her that day, would they be where they are today.

He looked at the paneled door and before he could utter a single word of admittance, his wife walked into the room. He smiled at the sight of her. After twelve years of marriage, he still smiled every time he looked at her. She still caused his heart to soar and his feelings to stir…not that he would ever admit such nonsense.

"Lord Malfoy, I have a bone to pick with you," Hermione said as she skirted into the room.

"Call me Husband, my dear," he reminded, although he knew it was of no use. She called him Husband when she was happy or in a playful mood. She called him Draco when she was serious or when she was discussing something of importance, such as their children. She only called him Lord Malfoy when she was vexed, which when he thought on it, was often. Each time she did, he always gave her the same response. He would always remind her to call him 'Husband', yet she never did.

"Lord Malfoy," she repeated. He bent his head so she would not see his smile.

He stood from his seat and walked up to her and said, "Yes, Lady Malfoy?"

She raised one eyebrow. "Lady Malfoy? Since when do you call me Lady Malfoy?"

"Since you call me Lord Malfoy, now get on with it, I haven't all day," he said, though he leaned against the desk, as if he did indeed have all day.

She stood in front of him and offered him something black and sleek. He reached for the material, and as it passed from her hand to his, he noticed what it was. "Why do you have my old highwayman mask?"

"The better question would be why did our son, Dante, have it? The better question, Lord Malfoy, would be why did he show it to his younger brothers and sister, and why did I just find them in the garden playing, 'Highwayman'?"

He fingered the mask and then looked up at her. He flung it over his shoulder, and took her hands. He pulled her between his legs and said, "Perhaps we could play highwayman whilst we are alone tonight, in our bedchamber."

"Lord Malfoy, this is serious," she said, though he noticed that she neither pulled her hands from his, nor did she move away from him.

"Children play all sorts of games, my love," Draco said. He brought her right hand up to his mouth and kissed it gently. "I remember when I was young, Marcus Flint and I used to play 'Torture the mudbloods'. Of course, the children playing the mudbloods were never very happy." He smiled, hoping his humour would not be lost on her.

Apparently it was.

She continued to glare at him, and he swallowed hard, released her hands, and moved to the other side of his desk so that he might place the mask in the top drawer. He sat back in his chair and said, "Hermione, have I told you today how much I love you?"

"Not today," she said, sounding bored.

"Come to me," he said. He held out his hand.

She smiled and said, "Come to me? You sound ridiculous." However, he noticed that she did 'come to him'. She stood by his chair, and he reached for her waist, and pulled her onto his lap.

"Who was the highwayman?" he asked as he nuzzled her neck.

"Dante was the highwayman, Benedict was the hero, Cristo was the highwayman's accomplice, and of course, our dear little Eleanor was the other hero, because she refused to be the damsel in distress," Hermione said.

He laughed and said, "She is so like her mother." He thought for a moment, and then said, "Wait a moment, Wife. If Dante and Cristo were the highwaymen, and Benedict and little Eleanor were the heroes, who were the victims?"

"There was but one, and it was Pyle, but of course. They had him tied up and everything," Hermione said with a smile.

"Do you want me to scold them?" he asked. He squeezed her tighter.

"No, because you never scold them, you spoil each one worse than the next. I have already done so," she said.

He actually clapped his hands together, as they still encircled her, and said, "Splendid, my job is done, then."

She turned her head slightly and said, "My quarrel is over what happened afterwards. They had untied poor Pyle and they had all settled down, or so I thought. It was too quiet, which you know, with a house that has an eleven year old, a ten year old, and an eight year old boy, as well as a six year old little girl, never happens."

He nodded.

She continued, "I went to the garden, quietly, to find the three younger ones sitting on the ground, and Dante holding out this mask, telling them the story of a real highwayman. He told his story very accurately, and it also sounded quite familiar. In fact, he told his younger siblings, that was how their mother and father fell in love for the second time. He told them the first time was during a war, and the second time was after their father, as a highwayman, robbed a carriage in which their mother was riding."

"And?" he asked.

"Lord Malfoy!" she exclaimed. She turned slightly in his lap. "Why would you ever tell an eleven year old boy such a story?"

"Because it is true, and I promised you many years ago that I would never lie again," he said plainly. "Besides, it is our story, and they are our children. He asked me stories about the war, but I told him that was a story best told by his mother, since she was the war hero, not I." He smiled at his wife and she smiled back. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Expect some questions at bedtime tonight, Wife."

"I see, so I am the war hero, and you are the highwayman, is that how you want our children to see us?" she asked, suddenly serious.

"No," he said, with a slight frown. "I want them to see us as a couple, who is in love, and as a family." Hermione placed a hand on his cheek, and leaned down to kiss his mouth sweetly.

She stood from his lap, and took his hand. She started to lead him from the room, and he asked, "Are we going to go play highwayman and hero?"

"No," she said, looking back at him as they walked down the long hallway. "I think it is time that we do tell our children about the war."

They had just reached the large drawing room, when he pulled her to a stop. She looked back at him, and he was frowning. "Do you not think they are too young?"

"No, Husband, I do not," she said. She smiled, and brushed her fingertips down his face. "I do not want them thinking of you as only a highwayman. I want to tell them that you too were a hero during the war. That you were a spy and that with great danger to yourself, you did what was right."

He merely stared at her, and then he drew her into his arms, and kissed her long on the mouth. When he released her, he said, "Then let us tell them the whole story. We will tell them of school, and how I was horrible to you, because I was brought up to believe terrible things, and how things changed during the war, and then we will tell them the battle that ensued."

"The battle? Do you mean the final battle?" she asked.

"The battle to win your love again," he said.

"Oh, Husband," she laughed, "You had my love all along."

They walked out of the room, through the French doors to the back garden, where they found their children. They called their brood to them, and then they told them their story, and when they finished, it was…The End.

* * *

_A/N 1: Thanks to my two beta's for this! Paula, who started it, and Kelly, who finished it. Thanks to them! Thanks also to everyone who read and reviewed. I know I don't post as often as I used to back in the day, when I used to post almost daily, though I still post my major story at least three times a week, and my minor stories at least once a week. My excuse is that I do have two stores in which to manage now, so I am so busy at work, and I do have three stories going on, (two HP stories, and one Trueblood Story) so that is my excuse._

_A/N 2: The first chapter of my new story is posted, and I promise everyone right now, if you read it like good girls and boys, I will reward you all with a nice, little, lighthearted, romantic comedy next. Something a bit different maybe. I have plenty of ideas brewing. I just need some love from all of you, to prove that you want such a thing. (HA!!!)_


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